Regrets and Resignations
by DiNozzos probie
Summary: Haunted by recent events, Tony is torn between loyalty and running away to save himself. Can anyone give him a reason to stay? Is it already too late? Eventual Tibbs. Rated K for now but may change to M in later chapters. Anything is possible!
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I am back after a much needed break! My silly muse has me pulled in so many directions, but with the news of Michael leaving and the speculation about Tony's exit, the idea for this story refused to get in line and demanded to be written.

The first couple of chapters will be devoted to getting insight into what our heroes, first Tony then Gibbs, are thinking and feeling with the realization that their friendship may be damaged beyond repair – or is it? Where this story goes from there is anyone's guess!

Disclaimer: I do not own any recognizable characters or places. I am making no money from this, and no copyright infringement is intended.

No beta, so all mistakes are mine. It's been a while and I'm a bit rusty, so please be kind!

* * *

"Regrets and Resignations"

Waking up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night, sometimes screaming, sometimes sobbing was becoming an unpleasant routine. Tony's mind refused to give him respite from the macabre visions that seemed determined to plague him night after night, and he was beginning to wonder if he would ever sleep peacefully again. The combination of long days and sleepless nights were beginning to take their toll, both physically and emotionally.

He would wake shaking and gasping for breath at the same moment during each recurring nightmare; Gibbs lying prone in the middle of the crowded marketplace, his lifeblood spilling out to form a growing puddle in the dust and sand, and Luke standing over him with a smoking gun clutched in his hand. The frames of the film ran in slow motion as Tony watched himself running through the maze of locals only to reach Gibbs' side just in time to see the last flicker of life leave his cobalt blue eyes.

Some nights he would get up, pour a stiff drink, and pace the polished hard-wood floors of his living room or stare out the window at the sprawling city below. Other nights, when surfing through hundreds of satellite channels failed, music served as a suitable distraction. His guitar and piano waited patiently for him, ready to help him finish a few partially-written songs held captive in his head. Losing himself in composition had helped his troubled mind in the past, but lately any catharsis was short-lived as major keys turned minor when despair and fear inevitably crept back in.

On this night, Tony lay awake staring helplessly at the moon-cast shadows dancing across his bedroom ceiling. Even if he dared close his eyes, he knew sleep would never come. That gave him time, too much time, to just lie there and think. Hazarding a glance to his right, the red digital numbers of his alarm clock displayed 12:15.

Tony sighed, his brow furrowing as he reflected on his life's journey and the choices he had made along the way. Right or wrong, wise or unwise, each twist, turn, and fork in the road had brought him to this point.

From Peoria to Philly, he had always been about the job. He ruffled a few feathers and made a few enemies along the way, so his time on each force lasted only a couple of years. Young, cocky, and brash, it wasn't long before he achieved the rank of Detective after landing at the Baltimore PD. Discovering that his once-trusted partner was a dirty cop, and with threats of being outed if he ratted, Tony found himself at a crossroads with no sign post to direct his path. He never found out how Danny came into possession of compromising photographs taken of him with another man in the dark recesses of a gay club, but they served their purpose and bought his silence.

Fortune smiled on him when a certain blue-eyed, silver-haired, Navy cop came into his life and offered him a way out. Leaving the gritty, grimy, dull streets and squad room of Baltimore behind for the fancier trappings of NCIS gave him a whole new sense of purpose, and he jumped at the opportunity without hesitation. He thrived under Gibbs' stern tutelage, and while the two of them were more alike than either of them dared to admit, it was being part of a highly respected team that made him feel complete.

Over the last few years, however, he felt the team's focus shift from crime scene investigation toward more geo-political issues. Between solo assignments as an armed escort and babysitter for the bratty, wayward offspring of top military brass and the team being chosen for every terror cell breaking mission around the globe, he no longer felt like a cop. Somewhere along the blurred lines, he became an expendable pawn in a chess game he no longer wanted to play. Despite having field offices scattered all over the globe, the MCRT had been turned into some sort of de facto anti-terrorism task force. The stakes were higher and the secrets more damning and destructive and he no longer wanted any part of it.

Even in the once friendly confines of the bullpen things had changed, and not for the better. For reasons that remained a complete mystery, McGee had become the chosen one. It was no secret that Vance favored McGee with his computer expertise in a more leadership role over his often unconventional but highly effective methods. Gibbs remained a functional mute on the subject, offering no explanation as to why McGee had taken his place as his trusted right-hand man. Relegated to McGee's former role, chained to his desk pecking away on a computer keyboard instead of being on Gibbs' six where he belonged, left him feeling as useful as a potted plant standing ignored and withering in the corner.

Had Gibbs finally given up and no longer trusted him? Was he willing to sit by while McGee took over his job? Did _anyone_ even want him around anymore? How long was he willing to stand idly by while his team self-destructed? He felt powerless to say or do anything to right the listing ship; his years of experience and loyalty no longer seemed to mean anything to anyone - especially not to Gibbs.

Maybe it was finally time to move on and find a new home where his dedication and experience would be appreciated. He knew that his local options were limited since he couldn't risk sending out resumes or making inquiries into positions with other federal law enforcement agencies without Vance and/or Gibbs getting wind of it. No, he would have to resign, say his good-byes, and make a clean break. No doubt it would be heartbreaking, but it was a matter of survival.

With more than enough funds in his bank accounts, thanks to his untouched annual trust fund distributions and a number of wise investments, he could take off with no particular destination in mind, and have plenty of time to decide his next career move. One thing was for certain; staying at NCIS was no longer an option.

With that morose thought in mind, Tony rolled out of bed with a rueful sigh. The clock now read 12:45.

* * *

Freshly showered and shaved, Tony leaned on the marble vanity and stared at his reflection in the mirror. Prominent dark circles under his eyes gave testimony to sleepless nights. Tiny crinkles he hadn't noticed before adorned the corners of his eyes and the few gray hairs scattered amongst the auburn at his temples seemed to have appeared overnight. When he had gone from youthful good-looking to a more distinguished ruggedly handsome he couldn't say.

"God, when did we get so old?" he muttered around a frown to his reflection before letting out a heavy sigh. A trip to the salon was definitely in order. "Well, at least we still _have_ our hair," he chuckled tiredly.

He was still in good physical shape for a man his age, but it was getting harder to maintain his athletic physique. Somewhere along the line his six-pack had softened into a four-pack, so he made a mental note to re-up his gym membership. Getting back to lifting weights in addition to his three-mile daily runs would have him backing in fighting trim in no time. Maybe cutting back on pizza and switching to light beer would help, too.

Turning from side to side and flexing for effect, Tony assessed his overall appearance. His arms, legs, and pecs were still muscled and well-toned, and his ass was still as high, firm, and perfectly shaped as it had always been. Giving his reflection a quick once-over and a parting wink, Tony finger combed his hair into place before going in search of clothes.

He dropped his towel into the hamper and pulled on a pair of black boxer briefs from his dresser. Moving to his giant walk-in closet, he switched on the light. All of his tailored suits hung to his right along with his dress shirts and a rack of designer ties. Casual slacks, jeans, and a veritable rainbow of sweaters hung to his left. At the back of the closet, a floor to ceiling rack housed his countless pairs of dress shoes and boots. Several pairs of athletic shoes were neatly lined up on the floor beneath a self that held his sweats and workout gear.

Since it was Friday, Tony turned his back on his suits and opted instead for comfortable casual. He paired a silky soft cranberry mock turtleneck sweater with a pair of dark blue jeans. A pair of dark gray Gucci ankle boots would complete the ensemble. Tony chuckled at his reflection in the full-length mirror affixed to the closet door.

It hadn't escaped his notice that after years of being a walking, talking, everyman advertisement for what passed for high fashion in the men's department at Sears, Gibbs had taken to wearing suits. Some days he added a tie, but more often than not he opted for leaving a few buttons undone. It was a shock at first to see silvery chest hair instead of the ubiquitous white undershirt, but Tony wasn't about to complain.

Gibbs had always balked at wearing suits, insisting that they were strictly for weddings, funerals, and the occasional court appearance. They may have been off the rack suits, but they fit him like a glove. Not only that, the high and tight haircut was growing out and the longer silvery strands threatened to tickle his ears. Tony wasn't quite sure what to make of the drastic change in Gibbs' style, but he had to admit he liked it – a lot.

After a final stop in the bathroom for deodorant and a splash of cologne, Tony grabbed his wallet, badge, phone, Sig, and keys and headed out into the dark of night.

* * *

Absently drumming out a beat on the steering wheel, Tony drove the all-too familiar route to work. Even at 0100, it still took nearly half an hour to drive the six winding miles to the Navy Yard. A number of stark white, brightly lit monuments passed unnoticed on his left as the Potomac River flowed majestically on his right. Munching on a couple of double chocolate donuts and sipping on a steaming cup of hazelnut-flavored coffee, his thoughts again turned to Gibbs.

Whether dressed in his customary Dockers, polo over white undershirt and a sport coat, or worn and stained t-shirts and sweatshirts paired with baggy faded jeans or cargo shorts, depending on the season and suitable _only_ for working in the basement, the man was drop dead sexy. Tony thought it was a damn shame that Gibbs didn't buy better fitting pants. Of course, even a seemingly innocent, off-the-cuff suggestion that Gibbs should buy butt-huggers to showcase his ass would earn him the mother of all head slaps or worse get him fired.

The man's updated wardrobe was but one part of his metamorphosis. He was still as much of a bastard as always, in some ways even more so, but in some respects he actually seemed to be softening around the edges a little bit. Maybe it was his mortality staring him in the face, or maybe he was just mellowing with age like a cask of fine wine or barrel of top shelf bourbon. Whatever it was, Gibbs was beginning to show a vulnerable side that made him less of a mythical superhuman and just more – human.

Nearly losing Gibbs to The Calling had reawakened something in Tony, something wondrous albeit dangerous. Feelings of love and desire that he had kept locked deep inside rushed to the surface and threatened to overwhelm him. He had always thought that Gibbs was a good-looking man, okay – gorgeous was a more accurate description, but Tony never dared give voice to his assessment for fear of giving himself away.

Any time Gibbs snuck up behind him or crowded his way into his personal space, Tony had to remind himself to breath. The man's steely blues eyes looked right through him with such intensity that Tony had to swallow hard. He became hyper-aware any time Gibbs was in close proximity; usually lurking somewhere just out of view. Over the years, the curious looks, teasing grins and on occasion outright flirting kept a tiny flicker of hope alive. Tony's rational mind knew that his feelings were foolish and would never be reciprocated, but his stubborn heart refused to listen.

He had suspicions that Gibbs knew what he was desperately trying to conceal; after all, the man knew everything. Always the dominant alpha-male, Gibbs seemed to delight in keeping him nervous and on edge. That infuriating half smirk of Gibbs' drove Tony crazy. He often wondered if the object of his desire was just biding his time teasing and testing him, waiting for him to break and confess. Were the head slaps just Gibbs' way of snapping him out of his fantasies, or some kind of sick, twisted foreplay?

Tony smiled at the fond memories of the dozens if not hundreds of swiftly doled out head slaps he had endured over the years. He missed them along with the mischief he caused to earn each and every one. The good old carefree days of hazing McGee, trading insults with Kate, correcting Ziva's English, and doing his level best to impress the unimpressible Gibbs were long gone.

In the wake of the whole Bodnar fiasco, everything had changed. Ziva and her personal demons were gone leaving a dark cloud hanging over the bullpen. Her desk sitting empty again brought back unpleasant memories, from being accused of murdering Rivkin out of jealousy, being turned over to Mossad, thinking Ziva died when the Damocles sank, to being taken captive during the rescue operation in Somalia. The years spent trying to rebuild trust and repair their fractured friendship had apparently all been for nothing.

Gibbs never asked him why he went to Israel to track her down, not that he could explain it himself. In fact, the man rarely spoke to him anymore.

Abby offered the simplest explanation - Gibbs was jealous. When a stunned Tony cornered her and asked her what the hell she was talking about, she answered from her heart.

"Because you never went to Mexico to try and bring him back."

With all of the changes swirling around, Tony needed Gibbs – his friend, mentor, and confidant – now more than ever. His family was fragmented, and he had no one to talk to or confide in anymore. Palmer was the dutiful family man, McGee had Delilah, and even Abby was trying to make a go of things with Bert. Ellie had her own troubles with her pending divorce from Jake, and Ducky, being Gibbs' most trusted confidant, was not an option. Tony was treading deep water with no one to throw him a life line.

He longed for the days where he could show up at Gibbs' house unannounced, sit on the dusty wooden basement steps, drink his rot gut bourbon, and talk about everything or nothing at all. Gibbs' basement was a sanctuary in every sense of the word. Whatever was said or left unsaid in the dusty confessional stayed between them like priest and parishioner, and was rarely, if ever, mentioned again.

Tony just wished Gibbs would open up and talk to him, or at the very least not make a point of shutting him out. Along with a crumbling friendship their work relationship was beyond strained. Bringing Ellie Bishop, the pride of the NSA in, all full of wonder with her sunny disposition and innocent enthusiasm, had been a welcome breath of fresh air, but her addition to the team marked the beginning of the end.

* * *

Then fate or karma stepped in bringing Zoe Keates back into his life. Hesitant at first to rekindle an old flame and dredge up history, he decided to give things a chance. Zoe didn't play games and she understood him better than any other woman he had ever dated. She was tough, smart, funny, sexy, and beautiful; everything he thought he wanted, yet something was missing - passion.

Lord knows he tried, but it just wasn't meant to be. Zoe loved him, or so she professed, but no matter how hard he tried Tony couldn't bring himself to say the words he knew she wanted and needed to hear. They would have been a lie. He liked Zoe and had great affection for her, but his foolish heart belonged to someone else.

For the better part of six months he had played the part of the dutiful, attentive boyfriend, faking his way through romantic dinners, movies, concerts, and long walks in the park. It was easy in the beginning falling back into familiar routines, but the same issues that scuttled their previous relationship were still in play. Zoe demanded more of his time and attention than he could or was willing to give. She wanted her "Spider" back, but Tony wasn't that guy anymore. To put it simply, he had finally grown up.

His extended mission working with Joanna Teague to track down Daniel Budd followed closely by an unexpected reunion with Jeanne had strained their relationship to the breaking point. He didn't bother to ask Zoe if it was just the time apart, or if she wrongly assumed that he and Joanna or he and Jeanne had hooked up. He hadn't, but it didn't really matter. The damage was done; it was over.

* * *

As he pulled into his usual parking space, Tony paused for a moment before cutting the engine. With lights in only a few of the double-paned windows, the brick building that once felt like a second home looked ominous instead of welcoming. He climbed out of his car and strode along the winding path to the entrance. The grounds of the Navy Yard, normally teeming with personnel during the day, were eerily quiet. He waved to a security guard making his rounds as he approached the main entrance doors. Once he stepped inside and passed through security, a transformation of sorts took place. Badge on his belt and Sig holstered at his hip, Tony slipped into work mode with his very special agent mask firmly in place.

Without the midday glare from the skylight and only a few desk lamps casting targeted pools of light on the outskirts of the squad room, the bullpen was lifeless save for one lone inhabitant. Tony yawned as he jotted notes in the margins of several pages of the thick case file in front of him and prepared a detailed summary. According to the bank of clocks on the wall, the local time was an ungodly 0345; too early to even call Gibbs with the news that he had likely found the missing piece to their latest case puzzle.

Letting out a tired sigh, he leaned back in his chair and stretched, groaning as several vertebrae in his neck and lower back popped offering relief from being unnaturally hunched over his desk for the last two hours. It was worth the discomfort knowing that he was on the cusp of solving a case that had been threatening to turn cold.

There was something about being able to tune out the rest of the world for a few hours that drew Tony to the office in the middle of the night. In the pre-dawn hours the phones didn't ring, no one was kicking or cursing the nearby copy machine, and he wasn't subjected to the incessant chatter of his teammates. It was in this peaceful solitude that Tony did his best work.

Satisfied that he had likely solved the case, Tony crossed the bullpen and carefully placed the file with his summary clipped to the front in the middle of Gibbs' desk. After a short break to use the head then make a fresh pot of break room coffee, he was back at his desk to work on finishing a series of long overdue letters. He had finally given in and started listening to the whispered voices echoing in his head telling him that it was time for a change. All attempts to silence the nagging voices were futile; they were growing stronger, louder, and more persistent.

Tony felt a pang of sadness as he looked at the empty desks of his teammates. He never felt so adrift and alone in his entire life.

"I'm really gonna miss you guys," he whispered into the shadows.

He retrieved a thumb drive that he kept locked away with all of Gibbs' medals in his bottom drawer and plugged it into the USB port on his keyboard. An alphabetical index of personalized farewell letters all written within the last two months appeared, each file named for its intended recipient.

Gibbs was the only name missing from the list. Tony opened a new Word document and began typing. A bolt of sadness and regret shot through him as his shaky fingers pecked at the keys.

"Dear Jethro..."


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: My sincerest apologies for taking so long to update this story. As a reader, I hate waiting weeks or months for updates! Anyone who follows my fics knows that I rarely go more than a week or two between chapters, but due to a health issue that came up last April, and the ridiculous and unforgivable season finale, I had a tough time finding inspiration to write. But I am back now, and I promise to do a MUCH better job of updating. For those of you who have hung in there, I truly appreciate your patience!

Disclaimer: I do not own any recognizable characters or places. I am making no money from this, and no copyright infringement is intended.

This is my take on Tony leaving NCIS. I had hoped to post the entire fic prior to the season finale but, as mentioned above, things didn't quite work out as I had planned. In my Tibbsy world, Tali does not and will not EVER exist! Makes sense, since Tiva has never existed in my Tibbsy world either. Anyway, I intend to keep this to 3 or 4 chapters (yeah, yeah, yeah, I know I've said that before and ended up with 30). Also, if you review please be kind. I'm a bit out of practice and a bit rusty.

A HUGE thank you to the awesome Cacky for agreeing to beta this for me. Like I said - RUSTY!

* * *

Gibbs threw off the blanket and grabbed his throbbing left knee, grimacing through clenched teeth at the sharp pain that had pulled him from a fitful sleep. He was used to the dull ache that had become his constant companion, but the white-hot sensation of a lightning bolt slamming through his reconstructed knee never failed to take his breath away. His idiot doctors called it phantom pain, but it felt pretty damn real!

Switching on the nightstand lamp, he popped the cap off of the bottle of prescription pain pills next to his clock radio with such force the cap skittered across the floor and rolled away, disappearing under the dresser likely never to be seen again. He shook a pill from the bottle and dry-swallowed it. Chasing it down with a shot or two of bourbon would definitely hasten his relief, but Ducky's forceful admonition not to mix alcohol with the strong drug put the kibosh on that idea.

He slumped back against the headboard to ride out the agony as pain-induced beads of sweat on his forehead formed small rivulets that disappeared into the silvery hair at his temples. Cursing under his breath, Gibbs ran a hand down his face. In hindsight, maybe taking off at a dead run and tackling a suspect half his age and twice his size hadn't been such a great idea.

Ellie had been the first to chastise him for being a stubborn fool, followed by Ducky armed with a stern lecture and a long-winded story, which served as nothing more than additional punishment. From Vance on down it seemed as though everyone knew what was best for him. He had somewhat graciously accepted the endless fruit basket offerings, even if accepting meant that a few of them ended up going straight into the trash.

Gibbs knew his behavior was foolish, bordering on petulant and childish, but the slightest show of concern at his well-being caused him to lash out in anger. Pity was the last thing he needed or wanted. It was if all eyes were on him, assessing, judging, and looking for any sign of weakness to exploit. It was too much for his fragile ego. Somewhere along the line, his anger had become targeted primarily at Tony. Why, in all honesty, he really couldn't say.

He wanted to kick himself for bolting when Tony had asked him if they needed to talk. More than being his usual bastard self in his response, he had been a complete ass. The hurt in Tony's eyes still haunted him all these months later. Yes, by God, they needed to talk. Gibbs wanted to talk, but still feeling raw and vulnerable he couldn't risk letting his guard down. In the end it didn't matter; by act or omission he had driven Tony away.

Tony had shown up on a Sunday afternoon knowing that Vance would be in MTAC to participate in an inter-agency video conference. After hand-delivering his letter of resignation to Vance, Tony boxed up all of his personal effects from the bullpen, then vanished without a trace. Showing up in the bullpen Monday morning, Gibbs knew in his gut that something was terribly wrong. Vance waited until McGee and Bishop arrived to call the team up to his office to confirm that, at least for the time being, the MCRT would be down a man.

Tony's desk still sat empty, and would likely remain unoccupied for an indeterminate amount of time. His agency-issued cell phone, Sig, badge, and credentials were locked away in Gibbs' desk, with the hope that their rightful owner would return. Gibbs was in no hurry to replace his irreplaceable SFA. He refused to even look at the stack of personnel files collecting dust on the credenza. Vance's repeated threat to promote McGee to SFA and bring in a new member for the MCRT over Gibbs' forceful objection were met with a narrow-eyed glare and threat to retire on the spot. It was a battle of wills that Gibbs had every intention of winning, and with Tim and Ellie backing him up victory was assured.

It wasn't lost on Gibbs that Tony's sudden departure was due in large part to his well-intentioned but misplaced attempts to push him out of the safety and security of the nest. With his unmatched skills and over a decade of extraordinary service, Tony should have been years into leading his own team, or better yet living a successful life outside of NCIS with a gorgeous wife on his arm and a passel of little DiNozzos running around.

After suffering through a decade-long parade of leggy bottle blondes and tall chesty brunettes, Gibbs thought that Tony had finally found his true love when the beautiful but diminutive Zoe Keates arrived on the scene. Feisty and tough, she was a good foil for Tony. They were a striking pair and were by all outward appearances a happy couple. Tony turning nervous and bashful anytime she was around was, in Gibbs' estimation, a sure sign that Tony was smitten, if not actually in love with her. Gibbs wouldn't discover until it was too late that it had all been an Oscar-worthy act on Tony's part, played out for his benefit.

Gibbs sighed and glanced at the digital clock to his right, and was surprised to find that 20 minutes had elapsed while he had been lost in thought. Losing small blocks of time thinking about and worrying about Tony was not a new phenomenon, but it seemed to be happening more frequently.

It would still be an hour or so before Gibbs' internal clock would wake him, but his bladder had a schedule of its own. With a groan, he gingerly levered himself out of bed. Thanks to modern chemistry, the pain in his knee had subsided enough to hold his full weight with no trouble. Jackson's cane leaned against the wall next to the bed waiting patiently to be of service if called upon. Out of habit more than necessity, Gibbs grabbed the smooth, worn, crooked handle and shuffled the short distance to the bathroom.

Despite the pre-dawn hour, there was no sense even trying to go back to sleep. Due to deeply ingrained Marine training, or having chores to do before school when he was a kid, once he was up and about it was time to start the day. Gibbs stripped out of his boxer shorts and t-shirt and stepped into the shower, turning the faucet to an almost painfully hot setting.

Standing under the steamy spray, he stared down at his feet and let the pulsing water pound the tension from his neck and shoulders. After several minutes he reached for the bar of Dial soap, and just as he began to lather his chest an unexpected wave of sadness washed over him. Gibbs closed his eyes and stood under the torrent while his scattered emotions waged war with each other. The sadness gave way to anger. Anger gave way to fear. Fear led to a feeling of hopeless desperation. Desperation gave way to regret.

The rueful sob that escaped without permission gave testament to the profound sorrow that had taken him completely by surprise. Gibbs never paid much attention to feelings and the silly responses they triggered, but he could no longer deny his own. The long hot shower that had served to relieve his physical aches and pains had done nothing to ease the ache lodged deep in his heart. He bowed his head and allowed a few tears to fall amid the cascading water.

Gibbs knew he couldn't go on living in denial and just going through the motions anymore. His days were routine, fueled by too much coffee and a less than ideal diet. Get up before the sun, shower, shave, get dressed, go to work too early and stay too late, then home to eat unhealthy takeout, if he bothered to eat anything at all, and drink too much bourbon. His life felt colder, emptier, and lonelier. Even woodworking, the one escape that had always kept him grounded and brought him joy, no longer filled the void.

Missing was the indefatigable spirit of the one person who meant more to him than he had been willing to admit. Tony was gone and he had no one to blame but himself, and the more Gibbs tried to ignore his much deeper than platonic feelings for Tony, the more Tony haunted his thoughts. He could no longer deny the truth. He, Leroy Jethro Gibbs, was in love with one Anthony D. DiNozzo, Jr. God help him; help them both!

It was Dr. Taft, of all people, who had forced him to face his true feelings for Tony. Gibbs snorted at the memory of their last conversation.

 _Cyril had shown up with a six pack of some fancy-labeled, crappy-tasting beer that Gibbs had never heard of and proceeded to unleash an emotional ambush that left him reeling. The quick Q and A about how he was feeling suddenly morphed into an unsolicited assessment of his love life and conflicted feelings for "a certain good-looking colleague, who shall remain nameless"._

 _"Aww shit, here we go," Gibbs thought. He leveled an icy glare at Cyril that had absolutely no effect._

 _"Yes, Gibbs, feelings. I'm sure you've heard of them? I know you must hate them, but...," Cyril snarked in his nasally voice, adding a dramatic shrug for effect._

 _It was bad enough that his self-appointed keeper insisted on checking up on him at regular intervals; sometimes calling, sometimes showing up in the bullpen as if he just happened to be in the neighborhood and thought he'd stop by for a friendly chat. Cyril Taft had become a major pain in the ass and what remained of Gibbs' patience was being severely tested. The good doctor had both the temerity and tenacity to show up at his house unannounced and uninvited to give him grief about his diet, his sleep, or the lack thereof, to take his emotional temperature, and generally nag him more mercilessly than all of his ex-wives combined._

 _The man seemed determined to get inside his head and make him talk, and the more Gibbs tried to deflect the more Taft twisted the screws; sarcasm and self-deprecating humor being his most effective weapons. Even when Gibbs finally relented and offered up a rare but savory tidbit about his life, Taft unrelentingly pushed for more. It was a miracle that the two stubborn men never came to blows._

 _Gibbs had to give the man credit for having the nerve to stand up to him. It was a trait few people possessed. It took Cyril nagging him within an inch of his life to force Gibbs to face the truth. He not only wanted Tony back in his life, he needed him, on the job, on his six, as his friend, and as his lover._

 _The bowed head to hide the crimson rising on Gibbs' cheeks confirmed Cyril's theory._

 _"Uh huh, thought so," Taft said with a nod and a smirk. "Night, Gibbs."_

 _With that, Cyril trotted up the stairs leaving a stunned Gibbs standing in the middle of his basement, mouth agape as he attempted to process what had just transpired._

 _"Son-of-a-bitch," Gibbs muttered to himself._

 _Unfortunately, by the time Gibbs managed to summon up the courage to seek Ducky's counsel and advice on the matter Tony was long gone._

The water taking on a decided chill pulled Gibbs from his ruminations. He lathered up and rinsed quickly, and at that moment he made a decision. He turned off the water and made short work of drying off then tied the towel around his waist. The involuntary tears he had shed fueled a determination to set things right. He would do whatever it took to find Tony and get him back; to get him to come home. It might take a Herculean effort, but Tony was worth it. Teeth brushed, deodorant and Old Spice applied, Gibbs looked at his reflection as he put on his watch and scowled disapprovingly. Damn, he really needed a haircut!

Staring into the closet, Gibbs lips curled into a smirk. He pushed half a dozen suits to the side and pulled a pair of Dockers, a dark blue polo shirt, and a light gray sports coat from their hangers. No more hiding behind overpriced suits like they were made of armor instead of wool-blended fabric.

Gibbs tossed his wardrobe selections onto the bed and snatched a pair of boxer shorts and a white undershirt from the dresser. He dressed quickly then made the bed with Marine efficiency. After pulling on a pair of thick wool socks, running a belt through the loops of his Dockers, and tying his worn but comfortable boots, Gibbs stood and took a long look at the dresser's mirror.

"That's more like it," he muttered to himself with a satisfied nod to his reflection. The "old Gibbs" was back.

* * *

While the dark liquid dripped into the carafe, Gibbs opened the cupboard. A strong cup of home brew before heading to the diner for a quick breakfast was in order. He pushed aside the random assortment of small coffee cups he had amassed over the years and pulled out a large mug from the back. A crooked grin broke out on his lips as he ran the pad of this thumb over the quote embossed on it - "There's A Good Chance This Isn't Coffee".

The mug, along with a one-pound bag of ground Jamaican blend premium coffee, had been a birthday gift from Tony two years ago. After his first taste of the rich gourmet brew he never looked back; that Jamaican blend dark roast was still his drug of choice, his one indulgence, to hell with the cost.

Gibbs' smile faded as he sat the mug on the counter and filled it nearly to the brim. The distinct aroma wafting up with the steam deepened his frown even further.

"Ah, dammit Tony," Gibbs muttered before bringing the steaming mug to his lips.

After a few sips, Gibbs headed to the living room to retrieve his Sig from the locked safe on the bookcase. Switching on the lamp in the corner, a stapled bundle of papers peeking out from beneath a growing stack of newspapers on the coffee table caught his eye. With a sigh he abandoned the safe and took a seat on the couch. He absently drank his coffee and stared at the bound pages, contemplating them for a moment before setting his mug down and pulling them out from beneath the pile.

He'd lost count of number of times he'd read Tony's "Dear Jethro" letter since finding the nondescript manila envelope lying on the front seat of his Challenger. Each time brought forth a new revelation and a new regret. Words swam in a dizzying array, some randomly jumping off the page ("trust", "family", and "love") taunting him, mocking him, hurting him.

Gibbs knew he wasn't the only one affected by Tony's sudden departure. Those closest to him, the people Tony considered family - Tim, Abby, and Ellie, the younger, pesky siblings, Palmer the awkward cousin, and even Ducky the wisest and most learned grandfather - were all struggling in their own way.

Crime scene processing had become clinical, each procedure executed by rote. Ellie and Tim performed their assigned tasks with the same expert care and efficiency, and their case reports were concise with all relevant evidence indexed, but it was clearly evident that the heart and soul of their little band of misfits was missing. Tony wasn't there to offer his experience and guidance or run interference to counter Gibbs' often surly moods, either in the field or back in the bullpen when tensions were usually at their highest.

Abby was inconsolable. The ear-splitting noise that once passed for music had been replaced with more somber musical stylings. Some days the lab was almost silent, save for the whirring of Abby's babies as they soullessly went about their assigned tasks. She had never been one to handle change with much grace, but Tony's all too sudden departure from her life threw her into a tailspin. Her effervescent personality and the youthful exuberance to which everyone had become so accustomed had been replaced with a cool detachment void of any genuine affection. She would never say it, but it was clear from her curt tone and sullen demeanor that she blamed Gibbs for Tony leaving.

Ducky was angry - at Vance for once again using Tony as a pawn in some twisted attempt to assert his authority, at Gibbs for being a right bastard and driving away the one person who made him whole, and even at Tony for running away.

Oddly, Palmer was the pragmatic one of the group. After two weeks, he had grown tired of listening to McGee and Ellie complain about how Tony leaving meant more work for them, and Abby refusal to see past her own sorrow. Approaching the forensics lab, Gibbs heard a normally mild-mannered Palmer lash out at the trio.

"You know, you three might want to stop thinking about yourselves for a change and for once consider Tony's feelings. You don't know where he is or even why he left, because all you can think about is how him being gone effects you. Do you think it was easy for him to just pack up and leave without even saying goodbye? He must have been really hurting, but do any of you even care?"

Palmer stormed out of the lab and nearly collided with Gibbs. The young ME's assistant stood his ground earning a nod of approval for his staunch defense of his friend.

With the likely exception of Human Resources, Tony was missed by pretty much everyone in the building. With this youthful good looks, infectious smile, and wicked sense of humor, he was quite popular among his colleagues and co-workers. The coffee club made up of 40-something and 50-something women from various departments would no longer be on the receiving end of Tony's easy, flirtatious charm. He could lay it on pretty thick and have any number of women positively swooning in the break room in the time it took him to refill his coffee. Having lost their last three games, the intramural basketball team Tony played on was most definitely missing their point guard!

Tony had made it crystal clear to Gibbs that he needed time to figure things out and get his life in some semblance of order, and that only with a clean break could he find any answers or direction. The dog-eared, detailed missive now grasped in Gibbs' hand was testament to that.

 _Dear Jethro,_

 _God, where to start? I guess I have to start by breaking a cardinal rule to apologize. I'm sorry for not being man enough to face you and say what I need to say to you in person. I'm sorry I let you down by being a coward and walking out. I owe you an explanation, and maybe someday I can give you one. Right now I'm so confused that I can't make sense of anything._

 _I mean seriously, that Mossad bitch trying to pass off Ziva and some other guy's kid as mine? I didn't need to take a DNA test to know she wasn't. I admit I may have had some mixed up feelings for Ziva over the years, but I swear to you I never slept with her. I know you don't believe me, but it's the God's honest truth. She was my partner and sometimes my friend, I guess, but that's it. Think about it, Gibbs. First she accused me of murder and turned me over to Mossad, then she told a pack of lies that got her own father and Jackie Vance killed! After all of that, she even conned McGee - all of us really - into hunting down an innocent man so she could get her revenge. Kind of hard to trust her after that, don't you think?_

 _As you've probably heard by now, Vance offered me what he called a chance of a lifetime – an undercover op totally off the books. You know what that means, right? Having to keep secrets from you - again - and going in without backup. Another Director wanting my help with a personal vendetta? No thank you! I didn't stick around long enough to get the details, but let's just say I'm not about to put my ass on the line for Vance, who, by the way, has made it pretty clear that he hates my guts. My reward for a job well done would have been a promotion and relocation to Pearl Harbor or Rota, my choice, that is assuming I didn't get myself killed. Thanks, but I'll pass._

 _Hell Gibbs, I know danger is part of the job, but I'm not about to go looking for it. Between being an escort and babysitter and chasing down terrorists all over the damn planet, I'm done. I loved being a cop and I was damn good at it, too. I didn't sign up for all of this other crap. I can't stand the politics and I'm done playing the games. So, I told the toothpick to shove his offer. Are you proud of me?_

Gibbs snorted. Hell yes, he was proud. Why Leon Vance seemed to hate or distrust one of the best and most dedicated agents that NCIS had ever seen was a complete mystery. There was nothing in Tony's personnel file that Vance could possibly hold against him. On the contrary, it was chock full of commendations from him, two former NCIS Directors, three Secretaries of the Navy, and one President. Whatever Vance's problem was, it had to be something of a personal nature, not that he would ever inquire.

Flipping the page, Gibbs steeled himself for the letter's dramatic change in tone.

 _I'm so confused, Gibbs. Right now I only know one thing - I miss you. I miss everyone, of course, but you most of all. Actually I have for a while. I wish I knew what I did to make you stop trusting me or even liking me. Everyone says you don't blame me for not having your six and stopping Luke. I'm not so sure. If I could have traded places with you, I would have. I hope you know that. I've never been so scared in my entire life. I still have nightmares, you know. I sometimes wake up screaming seeing you laying there bleeding. I thought I lost you, Jethro, and I don't think I can handle that._

 _I don't know if you realize it or not, but you mean a lot to me. You always have, but it's different now. I've been feeling things I have no right to feel, and I don't know what to do about it. I'm sitting here scared to death as I type this, but what the hell. By the time you read this, if you read it, I'll be far enough away that you can't shoot me or head slap me into next week. Okay, then, here goes nothing - I love you. There, I said it and I mean it._

 _Okay, I know you're straight, hello, married four times, so don't think I ever expected anything. Hell, I'm not gay either! Jesus, Gibbs, now you see why I'm so confused? I have no idea where this is coming from or why now. This is a big part of why I had to leave. Nothing makes sense anymore! Years of friendship and now I suddenly have "feelings" for you?_

 _The last couple of years have been really tough. First my dad starts showing up all the time trying to weasel his way into my life. Usually when he needs money. The whole Bodnar fiasco. Ziva leaves and enter little Ellie Bishop. Then Jeanne shows up out of the blue, and that brought back a whole bunch of fucked up memories. I get past that, and then here comes my old partner, Zoe. I knew it wouldn't work out with her. Too much history. But you know what's really weird? It seemed that the more my past came back to haunt me, the more you pushed me away. Why, Gibbs?_

Knowing the letter was about to take on an even more accusatory tone, Gibbs tossed it onto the coffee table and fell back against the butter soft leather of his new sofa. Staring up at the ceiling, Gibbs considered his options. He could wait and hope that Tony came home of his own volition, or he could burn up some accrued vacation to hunt him down and drag him home. The only problem with the second option was that he had no clue where to start looking.

"Where the hell are you, DiNozzo?" Gibbs asked the shadows on the ceiling.

As if in answer to the question, his phone rang. The ring tone assigned to the early morning caller was the theme from "Dragnet". Gibbs knew it was Fornell before he even flipped his phone open to reveal the caller ID. Tony had gotten bored during an overnight stakeout and paired personalized ring tones to all of his contacts. The "Super Mario Brothers" video game theme was assigned to McGee. Ducky's was appropriately a duck call, and Vance's was the ominous opening theme to "Jaws". The only one that Gibbs found truly annoying was Abby's. Tony had somehow managed to record her excitedly calling out, "Gibbs, Gibbs, Gibbs, Gibbs". Not surprisingly, Tony had assigned himself the "James Bond Theme".

"Yeah, Gibbs."

"And a good morning to you, too," teased Fornell with sarcastic cheer.

Rubbing his left temple to stave off the anticipated headache the call would likely generate, Gibbs replied tersely, "Tobias, what's so damn important that you had to call this early?"

He could almost hear his friend smirking victoriously through the phone.

"Jethro, please, I'm hurt. Can't a friend call to invite you to a nice breakfast? Your diner, my treat. Besides, we both know you're already halfway through a pot of coffee, so get your ass over here."

Gibbs' gut churned at the urgency in Fornell's voice. Fornell had news, big news, but Gibbs wasn't sure he wanted to hear it. Whatever it was it almost guaranteed a jurisdictional pissing contest or God-forbid a joint FBI/NCIS op. Silence prevailed for a few moments until Fornell cleared his throat.

"Look, Jethro, I found your boy. I found DiNozzo," Fornell announced in his more customary low key manner, all hint of teasing gone. "Just get over to the diner and I'll fill you in."

A dozen scenarios swirled around Gibbs' mind. What did Fornell mean by found him? Where? How? And more importantly, when? Was Tony okay or was he lying in a hospital bed somewhere, the victim of yet another misadventure? Had Tobias talked to him or seen him with his own eyes?

Gibbs jumped up and nearly stumbled over the coffee table. In his haste to open the gun safe, his fingers fumbled all over the numbered key pad resulting in four expletive-filled attempts to open it. Moments later, with his Sig finally freed and securely holstered to his hip, Gibbs pocketed his phone, shrugged into his coat, snatched his keys from the entryway table, and bolted out the door.

The earliest hues of dawn were beginning to break over the horizon as Gibbs turned the key in the ignition, bringing the throaty 427 under the Challenger's long, gleaming hood roaring to life. With the streets empty at that hour, he backed out of the driveway, dropped the clutch, and leaving an impressive cloud of tire smoke behind barreled down the street at his normal breakneck speed.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Once again, my apologies for taking forever to update this. I could make a bunch of lame excuses (real life issues, work, too busy, etc.) but I won't. There is no excuse for keeping you hanging. Problem is; the lazy writers and show runner destroyed everything I loved about NCIS and the characters. I never made it all the way through MW's farewell episode and have only seen maybe one full episode (the one with Palmer out on the ledge) since Tony's absurd and nauseating departure. My hope is that this little story eases the sorrow for those of us heavily invested in Tibbs or just the NCIS team/family we all knew and loved for so many years – for whatever reason. Also, Tali may be Ziva's kid, but in my world she is NOT Tony's!

Warning: Still no beta, so all mistakes are mine.

Disclaimer: The usual – I don't own the characters or places. I'm not making a dime off of this and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

After flashing his credentials at the Navy Yard guard house, Gibbs pulled into his customary parking space and switched off the ignition. Director Vance's gleaming black government-issued SUV occupied the reserved VIP parking space immediately to his left.

Leon Vance was one of only a handful of people that made a habit of reporting for duty before 0700 every day. Gibbs admired the fact that Vance chose to drive himself instead of being chauffeured, even though a car and driver was a perk that came with being the Director of a federal agency. Unless it was for an official event or travel, Vance threw off most of the customary trappings of his post. He preferred the freedom of being able to come and go as he pleased without the hassle of having to wait for his car and driver to be summoned. When alone, he also kept his personal security detail to a minimum, only agreeing to a full complement of security agents when Jackie and the kids accompanied him.

As the cooling engine ticked, Gibbs gently lifted his travel mug from the leather-wrapped custom console cup holder and brought it to his lips, tapping his index finger on the side while contemplating his next move. Scenes from his early morning breakfast meeting with Tobias Fornell played over in his mind.

* * *

Approaching the corner booth, Gibbs' eyes immediately fell upon his nemesis turned friend smirking at him over the rim of a chipped coffee cup. A contingent of regular early birds sat perched on their customary stools, which ran the length of the gleaming chrome-edged Formica counter. The din of random conversations among those gathered blended in with the clanking and occasionally breaking of dishes, the squeak of Elaine's sneakers on the tile floor, gruff calls of "order up" from the stainless steel order window, and the tell-tale ding of the bell over the door announcing the arrival of another customer. Gibbs mumbled a flippant "morning" to the few souls brave enough to address him directly at such an early hour as he passed by.

Something about Fornell's growing smirk was pushing all of Gibbs' buttons. In no mood for games or riddles or any bullshit that the FBI agent likely had locked and loaded in his arsenal, Gibbs slid onto the thickly padded bench seat across the table and glared at his friend.

"The usual, Gibbs?" Elaine, who seemed to appear out of nowhere, asked with an over-abundance of early morning good cheer as she turned over the coffee cup in front of Gibbs and filled it nearly to the brim. She topped off Fornell's cup for good measure.

"Yeah, sure. Thanks," Gibbs muttered.

"I'll just have what he's having," Fornell offered helpfully.

Elaine shook her head at the all-too familiar antics. "Bacon, scrambled eggs, hash browns, and pancakes for two coming right up," she announced with a wink at Gibbs before turning on her heel and retreating, not bothering to write down the orders.

Once they were alone, and after a brief stare down, Gibbs growled, "You just gonna sit there and stare at me, Tobias, or do you actually have something?"

Fornell held up a placating hand.

"Easy there, Jethro. Drink your coffee and I'll fill you in on what I know. Here, start with this," he said, tossing a thin manila folder across the table.

Slapping a hand down on the folder to keep it from flying off into oblivion, Gibbs opened it to find a series of candid color photographs of Tony. He swallowed hard. Damn.

Over the next hour, interrupted only by Elaine bringing their food and stopping by at regular intervals to check on them and top off their coffees, Fornell was able to fill in a few of the blanks that had been driving Gibbs crazy for months.

* * *

 _While on what had promised to be a romantic weekend getaway to the Delaware coast, Fornell looked up from his dinner menu and caught sight of a solo Tony DiNozzo, the last person he would ever expect to see in this particular sleepy seaside town, perched on a tall bar stool nursing a frosty pilsner of beer._

 _The layout of Difebo's Restaurant afforded a clear line of sight from Fornell's table to the bar. From his vantage point, he was able to covertly observe Tony over dinner and dessert. He used his phone to snap off a few candid photos, knowing that Gibbs wouldn't trust his word alone that he had discovered where his boy had been hiding out. Much to his surprise, Tony brushed off the unsolicited advances of a pair of strikingly beautiful women – one blonde, the other brunette. It wasn't easy keeping an eye on his mark while holding down a conversation with his would-be girlfriend, but he managed to stay well enough engaged. If Lorraine Hennings, Special Assistant to the Undersecretary for Homeland Security, was feeling in any way neglected she didn't let it show._

 _Fornell's plan was a romantic dinner followed by a casual stroll on the moonlit beach to hopefully set the mood for a long adventurous night between the sheets with the rather fetching Ms. Hennings. His secondary mission was to keep a watchful eye on DiNozzo so he could report back to Gibbs. Tobias Fornell was no fool. He knew damn well that his future would include years of personal and professional misery if he failed to so report, and Gibbs found out._

 _Whatever was going on in Gibbs' heart and mind these days, he had been involuntarily charged with sorting it all out. To hell with convention or evidence to the contrary, there was_ _something_ _between DiNozzo and Gibbs that needed to be set right. What that something was, Fornell was utterly clueless._

 _It struck him that this version of Tony DiNozzo seemed markedly different than the one who had been a thorn in his side for the better part of a decade. Something about his carriage and demeanor was off. Gone were the fake disarming smiles, the confident and cocky swagger, and the frenetic energy he was known to possess. This Tony seemed at peace, settled, relaxed, and almost at ease. It was a good look on him._

* * *

By the time Elaine returned with the check, Gibbs was already out of his seat and champing at the bit. Fornell dug out his wallet and handed the check back to Elaine with plenty of cash to cover the bill and a generous tip.

"Keep the change," he offered.

"Why thank you, gentlemen," Elaine replied. "You boys have a good day."

Gibbs managed a crooked half smirk and a curt nod.

Amused by Gibbs' impatience, Fornell teased, "Okay, you have the information. You know where your boy is, or at least where he was last weekend. Now what are you gonna do about it?"

Gibbs squared his shoulders, attempting to convey more composure and confidence than he felt. From where he stood, the 20 feet to the door might was well have been 20 miles.

"I'm gonna go find him and drag his ass back here," Gibbs answered with a shrug before taking a step away from the table. Fornell's hand shot out and grabbed his forearm before he could make a clean escape. Gibbs shot back at him with a murderous glare.

"Do not fuck this up, Jethro! You've got one shot at making this, whatever _this_ is, right. I know DiNozzo means a lot to you as a friend, a colleague, or whatever he is to you. I don't know. I have my suspicions, but that's a conversation for another time over something a hell of a lot stronger than coffee and pancakes. Whatever you did, you really let him down, you know. You hurt him, Jethro, so don't expect him to just run into your arms and forgive you. If you want him, I think you're gonna have to be ready to fight for him, and that means facing up to some pretty serious shit. Can you do that? Can you admit you fucked up?"

Gibbs' glare softened as guilt, remorse, and regret set in. After years of mutual disdain followed by a strange sort of kinship forged to fight a common enemy known as Diane, Fornell knew him too well. Any attempt to deflect or dissuade from the assumption that his feelings for Tony were anything but platonic or professional in nature would be a colossal waste of time.

Sensing Gibb's apparent surrender, or at least a little fight leaving him, Fornell released his grip. Gibbs sighed.

"Yeah. Whatever it takes. I was a bastard. I pushed him away. I know that. The team needs him, and, dammit, I need him. Nothing will be okay until he's back here where he belongs."

"Then go get him," Fornell replied, a genuine smile growing across his lips.

Gibbs hesitated for no more than a few seconds before bolting for the door. The "Thanks, Tobias, I owe you one," went unspoken.

* * *

Gibbs was startled back to the present by the throaty rumble of another car backing into a parking space further down the row. It was Abby. There was no mistaking her bright red roadster. Undetected, Gibbs watched as she climbed out of her car and headed off toward the NCIS main entrance. He waited crouched down in his seat for several minutes to make sure she had plenty of time to make it inside and clear lobby security. Gibbs slowly rose up in his seat and peered over the dash. Seeing Abby's lab light up through the sidewalk-level windows was his sign that it was now safe to go inside. He would need to talk to Abby about his eventual plans, whatever they ended up being, but he needed to talk to Leon Vance first.

Armed with his now half-full travel mug, Gibbs climbed out of his car and headed for the entrance. With any luck he would be able to meet with Vance, brief Bishop and McGee, hand out assignments, run home to pack, and still be on the road by mid-morning at the latest.

Fornell had given him a gift, and time was of the essence. Gibbs knew that the very idea of using his countless hours of accrued vacation time for an actual vacation would be met with shock, along with a healthy dose of skepticism, but any sustained grief would be worth it if he played his cards right. He had a chance to go to Tony, shatter Rule Six, and attempt to atone for his many professional and personal sins.

The team had just finished up a fairly routine case involving the theft and exchange of official military vehicles from the USMC motor pool at Quantico for drugs, leaving nothing to do except put the finishing touches on the obligatory paperwork. The timing for a little vacation couldn't be better, and Gibbs doubted that a request for a few days off would be met with much, if any, resistance.

As the case wound up, the latest agent brought in as a possible Tony replacement had been summarily dismissed by the team for, well, not being Tony. Ellie and McGee both found the impossibly green agent, a recent FLETC graduate, a strictly by-the-book-with-no-instincts kind of guy, lazy, sloppy, and outright annoying. Adhering to long-standing federal regulations and Gibbs' rules was one thing, but holding up an investigation because of a ridiculous new policy drafted by some random bureaucrat with nothing better to do didn't sit well with either of them. Ducky and Palmer were more diplomatic in their analysis, but each voiced grave concerns about his future as an investigator. Abby straight up hated him and wasn't shy about voicing her opinion. Trusting his team and taking all of their assessments into account, Gibbs vetoed the addition of Probationary Special Agent Paul Smith-Waterford III to his team.

"You're gonna have to pawn him off on someone else, Leon. I don't have time for this shit," Gibbs scolded as he shoved a shiny new personnel file folder into Vance's hand.

* * *

Strolling from the elevator into the empty bullpen, Gibbs stopped at Tony's abandoned desk and sighed. The muted light filtering in through the skylight and the double pane windows cast an eerie glow over the squad room. Some days Gibbs half expected to find Tony either hunched over a stack of files lost in the details of a case, or sprawled out precariously balanced on his chair, fast asleep with his feet up on his desk, arms hanging at his sides, and snoring softly, with the cold remnants of a late-night order lying scattered on one side of a large open pizza box.

Images of the latter brought back fond memories. He missed those simpler times; the early days back before the lines got blurred and politics took over. There were the countless times he had to referee petty sibling bickering between Kate and Tony, the addition of Tim McGee who was, until Paul Smith-Waterford III came long, quite possibly the greenest agent to have ever survived FLETC training, to the team, and the loss of Kate at Ari's murderous hand.

Even the chaos created when a certain Mossad liaison officer was foisted upon him brought back a mixed array of emotions; regret, anger, sorrow, and betrayal being most evident. Ziva David had confounded Gibbs almost from the day she first arrived on the scene. He never truly trusted her, certainly not the way he trusted Kate, Tony, or even McGee. He wanted to trust her, needed to trust her, but Ziva was a feral creature. It was how she was raised and how she had to be to survive as a young Israeli. There were a few good times during her years with the team, but Ziva had a penchant for playing games that on more than one occasion put lives in grave danger.

Left to his own devices, Tony managed to find enough trouble on his own. The young Italian was simply a trouble magnet. He had been beaten up on numerous occasions, was nearly blown up by Ari, was infected with the plague of all God-forsaken things, and generally put himself in harm's way more times than Gibbs could count, but it took Tony falling in love for longer than a weekend to wake him up to the truth.

What he had projected as annoyance with Tony's Monday morning recaps of his latest conquests was jealousy, pure and simple. Realizing that his feelings would never be reciprocated, Gibbs stoically shoved them down and locked them away. When it turned real, first with Jean Benoit then later with Zoe Keates, Gibbs could no longer ignore those feelings.

Gibbs had mixed feelings about leaving his SFA's chair empty, but he just couldn't picture anyone but Tony sitting there every day. The few agents brave enough to try out for the coveted open spot on "Team Gibbs" had each been relegated to the tiny, cramped, no frills cubicle behind Gibbs, where they were often ignored and all but forgotten during their short tenures.

"Morning, Gibbs," McGee greeted, breaking Gibbs from his thoughts. McGee placed the large to-go coffee he carried in on his desk then dropped his go bag into its customary place, in the corner on the floor behind his desk. Before he could pull out his chair and sit, Gibbs turned to him and announced, "McGee, when Bishop gets in tell her I want her report on my desk in one hour - yours too."

Perplexed by the rather odd greeting and sudden break for the stairs, McGee stammered, "Uh, sure thing Boss." He turned and watched as Gibbs climbed the stairs, taking them two at a time. There was something off about the man, but McGee had long ago given up trying to figure him out.

* * *

Vance looked up from the stack of reports and files in front of him, just in time to see his office door fly open. Cynthia, his trusted assistant, wouldn't be on station to direct traffic or announce Gibbs' arrival for at least another half an hour. Vance dropped the fountain pen in his hand onto the stack of papers to greet his unannounced intruder.

"And a good morning to you too, Agent Gibbs. To what do I owe this, umm, visit?" Vance grumbled as Gibbs took up a position standing at attention directly in front of his desk.

"I need a few days off, Leon," Gibbs replied, his tone flat and all business.

Vance's eyebrows shot up at the unexpected request. He studied Gibbs' facial expression and body language for any helpful clues or tells, but as was typically the case Gibbs gave nothing away.

Folding his arms across his chest, Vance leaned back in his leather chair asked, "I know it's none of my business, but you requesting vacation time out of the blue like this makes me a bit nervous. You're either already in some sort of trouble or you're going to go out and look for it. So, which is it?"

Gibbs shifted his stance ever so slightly, tilted his head, and stared back at Vance. It was crystal clear that no verbal response would be forthcoming, so Vance held up a hand in surrender.

"Okay, you don't want to tell me why you need time off, fine. I'm giving you two weeks, starting right now." He knew that Gibbs would go nuts with that much down time, so he did his best to make it sound like a direct order; not that Gibbs would obey it.

Gibbs nodded curtly and strode for the door without protest. Grasping the door handle, he slowly turned back to face Vance.

"I got some information on DiNozzo. Found out where he might be holed up. I'm, uh, gonna see if I can talk him into coming back, that's all. Probably as waste of time, but I owe him a chance to tell me to go to hell."

Vance nodded. The last couple of years had been contentious to say the very least. Nerves were frazzled and egos had taken quite a beating. He had his own share of regrets, a lot of them where DiNozzo was concerned. From the commendations in Tony's jacket, to his reputation and the level of respect he garnered from agents across sister agencies where jurisdiction often crossed, and from his own observations over the past several years, Vance knew he had let a high value agency asset get away. Agent Anthony DiNozzo, for all of his sophomoric behavior at times, was a consummate professional when it came to the job. He got results and made Vance look damn good in the eyes of his superiors. On a more personal level, the quiet support and respect that Agent DiNozzo had shown him after the murder of his beloved wife, deserved reciprocation, not dismissal.

"Uh huh. Well, I wish you luck with that, Gibbs," Vance said. "Two weeks. Bring him back if you can. He's a damn good agent and we need him. If you can't, well, then give him my best."

* * *

Gibbs skipped down the stairs to find McGee and Ellie huddled at McGee's desk comparing notes on the case. Seeing Gibbs descend the stairs and make a beeline for his desk, Ellie scampered over to her own leaving McGee to start feverishly typing.

"Good morning, Gibbs," Ellie chirped while nervously tucking long strands of blond hair behind her ears. Her cheerful expression morphed into one of confusion as Gibbs gathered up his badge, gun, and go bag.

"We got another case, Boss?" McGee asked.

Gibbs came around his desk and stood before his two perplexed agents.

"Nope, I'm going out of town for a few days, maybe a week. I need the two of you to take on some cold cases or take some time off yourselves. God knows, you've both earned it."

"You, taking vacation?" McGee stammered.

"Well, yeah McGee, I am. If you must know, I got some intel this morning. I may have a lead on where Tony is."

After a brief but excited exchange with McGee and Ellie, followed by an emotional good-bye in Abby's lab complete with stern instructions from Ducky to "bring dear young Anthony home", Gibbs made his way home to pack. With no idea how long he'd be gone he threw several changes of clothes into a large nylon gym bag along with his toiletry kit.

By the time he backed out of the driveway a short while later, with only his gym bag riding shotgun to keep him company, Gibbs knew he had chosen the right course of action. Turning onto US-50 East, and determined to knock at least an hour or better off of the three-hour travel time, Gibbs smashed the accelerator to the floor.

* * *

Tony hugged his knees to his chest and looked out over the vast expanse of ocean. White-capped waves rolled in, breaking several yards out from the sandy beach that seemed to stretch for miles along the Atlantic coast. Having just finished a three-mile run, he dropped down on the sand to catch his breath. The clean, fresh, salty air filled his lungs.

Dropping his head back and closing his eyes, Tony let the serenity of the morning wash over him. He felt a sense of calm that had eluded him most of his adult life. Here, in this little tucked away place, no one demanded anything of him and he was free to do as he pleased. For once, he truly felt he was at home and at peace with life and with himself.

Bethany Beach, Delaware, a picturesque resort town with just enough old world charm located a relaxing drive from the hustle and bustle of Washington, D.C. had been his home for the past two months. The sleepy coastal town was coming to life as the late-morning sun rose higher in the eastern sky. With the summer vacation season in full swing, each day brought more and more tourists flocking to the resorts scattered up and down the coast.

Tony had landed in Bethany Beach after escaping D.C. to find himself. With no specific destination in mind, he hit the open road, sojourning as far south as South Carolina before heading back north, toward where he didn't know. Leaving his regularly-scheduled life was the hardest thing he had ever done, but it was a matter of his survival. Instead of seeing the world with a jaded investigator's eye, he saw it through the lens of a camera. His laptop was filled with photographs of everything from a single wildflower discovered blooming in a rocky roadside outcrop, morning fog lifting from dew-covered manicured horse paddocks found sprinkled along dusty country roads, to panoramic sunrises and sunsets from various locales up and down the coast. People, places, and random things all told a story.

No matter where he stopped on his journey, Tony found himself drawn to the quaint, quiet towns off the beaten path where the people were genuine and no one was in a big hurry to get rid of him. He soaked up tales told over morning diner coffee by locals whose family histories dated back to well before the Civil War. Tony had been invited into countless homes to stay as long as he wanted or needed; each one renewing his tattered spirit.

He usually only stayed in one place for a couple of days before moving on, but he found himself charmed to his very soul by the residents of Bethany Beach. He had been welcomed into the fold and was talked into checking into the Addy Sea Bed & Breakfast on the waterfront for an extended stay. The Addy Sea was a Victorian mansion filled with antique furnishing overlooking the ocean. It was both elegant and rustic with its original tin ceilings and rich varnished and polished woodwork.

What the Addy Sea lacked in modern technology it more than made up for with old-world charm. Paying in advance for a whole month, with a negotiated option for a second, Tony checked into Room 10 located on the third floor. Even after charming the owner/manager into renting him the premium room for the discounted standard room rate, it was pricey but worth it. His room was appointed with a king-sized bed, a comfortable seating area that afforded spectacular views of the ocean out large double-pane windows, and a luxurious private bath with spa tub and shower. The downside was that there was no room service and no TV. The local library and quaint little bookstore in town chock full of adventures to be read provided Tony with suitable entertainment and escape.

The boardwalk, the focal point of social activity, and surrounding commercial district were home to a wide variety of shops, restaurants, bars, and one very popular video arcade. The bay offered fishing, jet skis, boating, windsurfing, and water skiing. Concerts on the boardwalk bandstand were regular events as were Friday night movie screening. There was literally something for everyone.

With the Fourth of July weekend just two days away, every home and business was draped with red, white, and blue bunting. American flags of all sizes sprang up everywhere. The town was a picture of classic Americana at its finest. Final preparations were underway for what promised to be a spectacular fireworks display to close out a day of sun and fun. Tony couldn't help but find himself caught up in the excitement. He just wished he had someone to share it with.

It's not like there wasn't a veritable smorgasbord of bikini-clad beauties to choose from on any given day, but Tony simply wasn't interested. He had quit partaking in the nightclub scene after only a week. It had become the same old routine every night. Same drinks, same music, and even the women all started to look the same. Instead, he opted to settle in for a few hours of reading before turning in for a good night's sleep.

Tony suddenly sensed a presence, one that was both familiar and terrifying. He didn't need to ask who was casting the long shadow over him; he knew damn well who it was.

 _"_ _Son of a bitch,"_ Tony thought. He wasn't angry, not really. In all honestly, he wasn't all that surprised that he'd been found.

He chuckled and halfway cracked open one eye, which found two blue ones gazing intently back at him over the top of mirrored aviator shades.

"Took you long enough," Tony snarked good-naturedly. He opened both eyes and took in the vision standing before him. His heart skipped a beat.

Gibbs was still an imposing figure despite his chosen attire – faded and frayed cut off denim shorts, a plain navy blue t-shirt, and, bless his little heart, a well-worn pair of Birkenstock sandals. Except for the obvious lack of anything remotely resembling a tan, Gibbs could almost pass for a standard issue beach dweller.

The current fashion statement was a far cry from the suits Tony had _almost_ become accustomed to seeing his former boss decked out in. This version of the man looked like a cross between weekend yard work Gibbs and bourbon and boat in the basement Gibbs. Tony found this new version as fascinating as he did confusing.

"Mind if I join you?" Gibbs asked before dropping down on the sand next to Tony.

"Knock yourself out," Tony retorted.

After a few minutes of awkward silence, Gibbs stated, "It's really beautiful here."

Tony nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah, it really is."

After a moment he posed a question he wasn't sure he wanted Gibbs to answer.

"Why are you here, Gibbs?"

Gibbs gave a non-committal shrug.

"Fornell was here last weekend with some new lady friend and saw you. I just found out this morning. I put McGee and Bishop on cold cases, told Vance I was taking some vacation time, got scolded by Ducky and yelled at by Abby, went home, threw some clothes in a bag, and here I am."

A somewhat shocked and wide-eyed Tony stared at Gibbs. After months of being incommunicado, for Gibbs to drop everything to hunt for him was simply astonishing. Tony took a drink from his nearly empty water bottle before attempting to speak. His throat felt as dry as the crystalline sand surrounding him.

"Wow, okay … but _why_? I mean, it's been months. Hell, I figured everyone had forgotten about me by now."

The urge to deliver a long-overdue head slap was overwhelming, but Gibbs managed to resist. He owed Tony words, even if they were more terse and biting than he intended. Gibbs balled his hands into fists in an attempt to tamp down his growing aggravation.

"DiNozzo, I would have come after you the day you walked out, but you disappeared without a trace. You left both of you cell phones behind, no forwarding address, you disabled the GPS in your car, and you're obviously traveling with a pile of cash since there haven't been any hits on your bank accounts or credit cards. Trust me; Abby and McGee have hacked into everything they can think of trying to find you. Airports, train stations, bus stations, and about a thousand hotels. Not sure if they've gotten around to checking jails or hospitals yet. Hell, Palmer and Bishop even took turns for a while staking out your apartment building in case you showed up."

Seeing a look of contrition cross Tony's face, Gibbs softened his tone. "Tony, everyone has been worried sick about you – including me".

Tony sat gob-smacked. The look of concern, sadness, and dare he say affection set in Gibbs' eyes was almost too much. He swallowed down the growing lump in his throat.

Turning his focus to a random spot out on the horizon, Tony replied timidly, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset or worry anyone. I thought I explained everything in my letters."

After a few seconds Tony's eyes suddenly went impossibly wide as the drunken confessions he made in his letter to Gibbs flooded into his mind. Confessions, of course, he never would have made in a million years had he thought there was a chance in hell he'd come face to face with Gibbs. Oh Dear God!

"Oh shit, Gibbs," Tony stammered. He attempted to jump to his feet to beat a hasty retreat, but found his wrist held fast in Gibbs' grasp.

"DiNozzo … Tony, sit," Gibbs implored. "Please."

Tony did as requested, though he left a fair bit more distance between them. Eyeing Gibbs nervously, Tony searched for the words he needed to say.

"Gibbs, about that letter. Jesus, just forget everything I wrote. I was drunk when I wrote it. I mean …"

"Tony!" Gibbs barked. "It's okay. Drunk or not, I'm glad you wrote it. That's why I'm here. That's why I had to come looking for you – once I found out where the hell you ran off to. I think we should talk about it."

Tony rolled his eyes and snorted. "Talk? You? Yeah, not really your strong suit. Gibbs, I've been trying to get you to talk to me for over a year. What's changed? Why now?"

Not getting an immediate response, Tony looked straight at Gibbs with hurt flashing in his eyes. He held up his hands in mock surrender.

"You know what, forget it. Doesn't matter. I don't know what we could possibly have to talk about anyway. From what Palmer's told me, you're all getting along fine without old Tony to kick around. And I'm fine. I've moved on. Sorry you wasted your time coming all the way out here, Gibbs. Tell everyone hello for me. See 'ya."

Tony jumped to his feet, dusted sand from the seat of his running shorts, and turned toward the boardwalk. He didn't make it more than two steps before Gibbs' soft-spoken words stopped him dead in his tracks.

"I miss you, Tony. I want you to come home. I _need_ you."

Tony threw his head back and laughed. The absurd notion that Gibbs, of all people, _needed_ him was preposterous. It was time to vent and unleash an overdue cathartic release. Tony raged. He paced, kicking sand in every direction, as he tried to find purchase to stand his ground and to for once be heard.

"You _need_ me; for what? Seems like now that McGee is your SFA everything is how you and Vance have always wanted it. I hear you're basically holding tryouts to replace me. Guess I should be flattered by that, at least. I gave you _years_ , Gibbs, my _best_ years, and in return I got nothing. I put my life on the line for you – more than once, and for what? Not even an 'atta boy, DiNozzo' or 'thanks for saving my life, Tony'. Oh sure, you never missed a chance to smack me for screwing up – even when I didn't do anything wrong – but God forbid you or anyone else recognize any of the good things I've done."

Gibbs sat before him motionless and expressionless. Out of breath and on the verge of angry tears, Tony waved a dismissive hand and started walking toward the boardwalk. Suddenly, he felt himself grabbed and spun around. Expecting to find a pair of pissed off, steely blue eyes glaring at him, he instead found sad, desperate eyes searching his.

"Dammit!" Gibbs growled, his fingers digging into Tony's biceps as he held him fast. The famous Gibbs control was slipping fast.

"Don't run away from me. Please! I'm sorry, for _everything_. Just let me explain. Can we please just talk? Then, if you want, I'll leave. Please, Tony?"

Tony's brow furrowed. One way or another, Gibbs showing up and apologizing meant that his life was about to change in a profound way. He would either end up truly alone in the world, or he could end up with everything he had been dreaming of for longer than he could remember. Tony brushed sand from his watch and noted the time.

"Wow! You either left DC at the ass crack of dawn or you drove 100 miles an hour to get here," Tony exclaimed. Gibbs just cracked a crooked grin in response.

Tony shrugged then nodded in the direction of the boardwalk.

"There's a great little place up there, right on the boardwalk. The Turtle Beach Café. I'm sure you could use a cup of coffee – or two. And they have great coffee, by the way. Best around. I'm going back to my place, take a shower and change. Wait there. I'll come find you when I'm ready to talk. Maybe we can grab some lunch or something. But Gibbs, don't expect too much."

With an involuntary jerk of his chin, Gibbs nodded his understanding. He didn't deserve or expect anything, but he still held out hope. It's all he had. Whatever would happen would be on Tony's terms, not his.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Just a bit more angst as our heroes attempt to figure out a few things! Not only do they learn a thing or two about each other, they may just learn a few things about themselves. Hearts are laid bare as wounds are opened. Past hurts are revealed, hopes and fears are voiced, and it's quite possible a few tears will be shed. When the smoke clears, will Tony regret forcing Gibbs to talk? Will Gibbs confession of his personal and professional sins be enough to "win" Tony back, or will it be the catalyst that drives him away for good?

A HUGE thank you goes out to my dear friend Cacky for agreeing to beta this. Her insight and feedback have been invaluable! She gets me like no other, and knows that I only want to give you my very best. She makes me a better writer, and for that I will be forever in her debt.

Disclaimer: I still do not own and I'm still making nothing from this work of fiction.

* * *

A leisurely stroll from the Addy Sea back to the boardwalk afforded Tony a little time to think and attempt to figure out what the hell was going on. He absently waved in response to a series of greetings from a few locals along the way as he kicked a pebble along the well-traveled path.

No answers were found under the soothing spray of his shower. All he could surmise was that it had to be work-related. The idea that Gibbs was there for personal reasons was quite simply laughable. Gibbs needed him and wanted him to come home, but to what? The status quo was out. Going back to the same old grind would be a huge step back that he wasn't willing to take, not now that he had tasted freedom.

Tony made his way through the growing throng of tourists milling about the boardwalk after spotting Gibbs casually perched on a wooden stool at one of the outdoor high top tables in front of the Turtle Beach Café. The rest of the tables were surprisingly empty. However, through the front door glass, Tony could see that lunchtime business was thriving inside the restaurant. He couldn't help but wonder if being the only occupants of the outdoor dining area was by luck or by design. It was hot, but in no way unbearable thanks to a gentle sea breeze blowing in. Could Gibbs have warned off other diners with a passive-aggressive warning glare?

Whatever the reason, Tony was relieved that his pending confrontation with Gibbs would lack witnesses. He paused for a moment to admire the man, and he wasn't the only one. He noticed with his trained investigator's eye that a pair of dangerously young, bikini-clad women strolling by were employing elevator eyes to check out Gibbs, who, by the way, looked sexier than Tony thought possible. Never one to flaunt his rugged good looks or toned physique; it was Gibbs' bastard, grumpy coffee aficionado side that was typically on display for all to see. Gibbs possessed a casual elegance and exuded a confident sexiness without any effort. It had to be the baby soft silver hair, blue eyes, and crooked smile that drove women crazy. Of that, Tony had no doubt.

Much to Tony's surprise, in lieu of an ever present steaming cup of black as tar coffee, Gibbs was sipping on a tall glass of iced tea. Gibbs' long, dexterous fingers curled around the glass causing displaced condensation to drip to the table top below. Chuckling nervously, Tony pulled out the stool opposite Gibbs. He faltered and nearly missed the seat when Gibbs smirked at him before taking a long drink. Only a firm grip of the table's edge saved Tony from certain embarrassment. In a few seconds he regained his bearings and composure enough to take his seat.

"Ummm…you suddenly decide to give up coffee?" Tony inquired. He picked up a menu and gave it a cursory perusal.

Stone-faced and deadpan, Gibbs shrugged and replied, "Ducky's orders. He's worried about my blood pressure or heart rate or something."

Nodding thoughtfully, while managing to keep a snort of nervous laughter from escaping, Tony commented, "Ah, well that does make sense. I mean, you have been known to mainline the stuff – and the stronger the better, am I right? Hell, you've done everything but walk around pushing an IV pole with a Mr. Coffee hooked up to it."

Gibbs' "oh-you-think-you're-so-goddam-funny-don't you-DiNozzo" glare has its desired effect of forcing Tony to clear his throat, look repentant, and change the subject.

"Okay, I'm sorry, but you gotta admit …," Tony remarked around a smirk.

"Shut it, DiNozzo!" Gibbs attempted to bark. His words didn't pack much of a sting; still Tony looked to see if Gibb's right hand was twitching. It wasn't, so he felt fairly safe to assume that a head-slap was not imminent.

Tony half-grinned at the surprisingly fond memories he had of the dozens, if not a hundred or more, head-slaps he had received from Gibbs over the years. He missed them, but he could only guess why. Maybe he was a glutton for punishment? Maybe it was just that they were his only physical contact with Gibbs, or a twisted sign of affection that Gibbs decided to bestow on him? Hugs were certainly off the table!

Getting back to the matter at hand, Tony swallowed hard. The time for pleasantries was over. He wanted to get to the root of things and prompted, "Okay, Gibbs. You wanted to talk, so talk. I'm all ears."

Gibbs remained silent so Tony continued. He leaned across the table, his voice dripping with disdain.

"Did the Toothpick send you here to tell me what a bang-up job my replacement is doing? Or, maybe you're here to tell me how McGee is a better Senior Field Agent than I ever was or ever could be? Or, ooh wait, maybe you want my blessing because you're dating Ellie or some weird shit like that? Or, and this is my personal favorite, you just want me to come back so you have someone to kick around. Is that one closer to the truth?"

Tony crossed his arms across his chest, fixing a Gibbs-worthy glare on his once and former boss.

"So which is it? What's so damn important that you had to drive all the way here?"

Gibbs' eyebrows shot up at the uncharacteristic display. This was a side of Tony he had never before witnessed. He knew it wasn't going to be easy letting Tony set the tone, but he was powerless to stop it. Having never having heard such raw resentment and vitriol in Tony's voice, nor seen such defiance and determination in his eyes, Gibbs was taken aback.

Thankfully, a young, perky red-headed waitress provided respite by arriving to take their orders - A roast beef Panini topped with smoked provolone and tomato for Gibbs; a turkey and Swiss with mayo, lettuce, avocado, onion, and spouts wrap for Tony. They decided to split an order of salsa and chips and settled on iced tea to drink.

Once the waitress was gone Gibbs looked around, and seeing no potential witnesses, he cleared his throat.

"Look Tony, I know I really screwed things up between us. Vance used you, and I let him. He used all of us but you definitely got the worst of it. Vance knows he screwed up. He told me to bring you back if I could. I wouldn't blame you if you told both of us to go straight to hell. I can guarantee that if you come back there will be no more off-the-books ops or personal vendetta missions. I haven't replaced you on the team, and I don't intend to. McGee isn't you and never will be. He never could be. Hell, Tony, no one can replace you, you know that. I want you to come back. I want you to come home and let me figure out a way to make things right. I know I let you down as your boss and as your friend. I know you're hurt, and that's all on me. I'm sick of the politics too, but I can't fight the brass alone. I need you by my side and on my six, but mostly I just … I just need you," was Gibbs' almost timid, though sincere-sounding response.

When the waitress, Susan, returned with their orders and the check, the two men were locked in a staring contest, mentally sizing each other up and each waiting for the right opening to engage. Gibbs managed a polite nod and "thank you" to Susan, who smiled and scurried away to tend to her other customers seated inside the restaurant.

Fumbling to unfold a linen napkin and place it across his lap, Tony was the first to find his voice. It was low at first; soft, and tinged with enough sorrow to fill Gibbs' heart with pain and regret. But as the words tumbled more freely, Tony began to gesticulate wildly as all of his pent up anger and frustration bled out. Gibbs wondered how long Tony's tall glass of iced tea would survive before being launched off the table. He wisely moved it out of harm's way while Tony raged.

"You're right. I was, am, hurt. You gave up on me, Gibbs. I had to go. You stopped trusting me and I have no idea why. You chose to have McGee on your six instead of me after all these years, and again I have no clue why. I turned into a goddam potted plant being stuck in the office, chained to my desk, while you put all of your trust in McGee. MCGEE! For Christ's sake, Gibbs, you have any idea how that felt? After everything we've been through, being totally ignored and left to babysit Bishop, and worse hearing you say, 'McGee, with me', knowing that meant you didn't want me or trust me anymore? I became the outsider, Gibbs; the worthless one who couldn't do anything right."

Tony stopped suddenly; his voice, breaking with a mix of anger and profound sadness betraying him. He took a small bite of his sandwich and washed it down with a sip of tea. Across from him, Gibbs did the same. The silence, broken only by the cry of a small flock of seagulls overhead, was awkward and painful.

Gibbs knew that Tony was far from done, and that he dare not speak out of turn. Tony had something to say, and he damn well deserved the opportunity to speak his mind. Though Gibbs' patience was beginning to wear thin, he owed a debt to the man seated across from him.

Tony picked up his napkin and brushed crumbs from his lips. A few more moments of silence passed before he again spoke, fortified by a deep breath to calm his nerves.

"Then, when all of this shit with The Calling happened, you let yourself believe in a bunch of messed up kids. I had to stand by, more than once, first when that kid blew up the school bus, then when little Luke Harris shot you - twice. I don't know if you actually had a death wish then or what, but you sure seemed determined to get yourself killed, and I had a front row seat to watch it all happen! Then after losing Dorneget, the most loyal but annoying pain in the ass I have ever met, I find myself traipsing all over the goddam place – with his grieving mother – to hunt down the son of a bitch who killed him. Okay, so I take care of Daniel Budd, leaving him lying there dead in the street and I finally get to come home. You're convalescing and I'm doing my job and waiting for shit to get back to what used to pass for normal, but you just kept pushing me further and further away. I wanted to talk, get rid of the distance and weirdness between us, but no. Nooooooo…you turned to your new buddy instead. Doctor Taft. A complete stranger. I would have been okay if it had at least been Ducky, but no! Heard you even hooked up with some lady shrink. I'm just glad it wasn't Dr. Ryan, by the way. I'm sorry, Gibbs, but she was beyond weird. Anyway, you obviously didn't want to talk to me, the worthless idiot, who, I might add, has been in the field saving your sorry ass for 15 years. I'm done. I'm done chasing down terrorists all over the planet. I'm done being sent all over the world to clean up other people's messes or to rescue some air headed Admiral's daughter. I'm a cop, Gibbs. A cop."

Tony continued adding air quotes for emphasis, "I always thought my job – _our_ job - was to 'investigate crimes involving the United States Navy and Marine Corp and their families'."

After another brief pause, "Or so that's what I was told when you hired me. I'm not a goddam spy, soldier, or a mercenary. I was a damn good cop back in the day. That was me. That's who I was, who I always wanted to be. I made detective on my own. No one gave it to me. I worked my ass off and earned my gold shield. I took you up on your job offer to join NCIS to solve crimes; you know - robberies, kidnappings, drugs, murders, heck, even a koala bear getting smuggled onto a sub. I thought being a good investigator is why you hired me. I did not, however, sign up to fight terrorists and international arms dealers."

Gibbs took the well-deserved dressing down with a fair amount of grace. Every word Tony uttered had been the God's honest truth. Talking in general, and apologizing specifically, went against his very nature, but Gibbs needed to find some words to at least try and explain his side. Unfortunately, words with any deep meaning failed him.

"What would it take to convince you to come back? A promotion? A raise? Your own team? A company car? Weekends off? What? Tell me."

Tony sighed and slowly shook his head. He was exhausted.

"You just don't get it, do you? I don't need money and I already have a car, thank you very much, and right now my weekends are already my own. I love it here, Gibbs. These wonderful people have taken me in. No one in this town asks anything of me. None of them have asked me to risk my life for them, but I probably would. No one has threatened me, beaten the shit out me, or shot me, and I'm good with that. I can't play the games anymore, Gibbs. Vance, Sec Nav, and the rest of the brass keep changing the rules. Nope, it's just not worth it. I miss everyone like crazy, I really do, but there's no way I'm going back to the way things were. I'm done working for a bunch of bureaucrats and political ass kissers who don't know the first thing about what we do. I deserve so much more, so much better."

Gibbs frowned and nodded in the affirmative.

"Yeah, Tony, you do. Okay, I get it. You don't want to come back to NCIS. I hear what you're saying, but what about coming back to DC? Work or don't. Find something else you want to do. What can I do to make things right for you to just come home? You left behind a lot of people who care about you and miss you, Tony – including me. It hasn't been the same for any of us since you left."

Tony's attempted protest was cut off before it started.

"No, it's my turn to talk," was the abrupt reply.

Tony's eyebrows shot up. That simple statement left him speechless, probably for the first time in his life. He held up his hands in surrender then motioned for Gibbs to continue.

"I keep expecting to see you - at your desk, in the elevator, in Abby's lab, down talking to Ducky, or hiding behind the stairs talking on the phone to one of your girlfriends or frat brothers. I still expect you to show up at my house out of the blue with a six-pack or a pizza. I miss what we had, DiNozzo. You and me; we were a hell of a team. We've been through a lot together. First Vivian, then Kate came along, followed by McGee. He wasn't there very long when we, when I, almost lost you the first time. Dammit, Tony, I've never been so scared in my life seeing you lying there fighting for every breath, looking like hell. You got me through losing Kate and dealing with Jenny taking over. Then Ziva shows up, and after a while things go all to hell. Then in the middle of all of that, I abandoned you. I ran away and dumped everything on you."

Tony interrupted to say, "Yeah, but Gibbs … you had just gotten blown up and lost your memory. I mean come on!"

"Yeah I did, and then when I finally got my shit together, I took over like nothing ever happened. You deserved to lead the team, Tony. You earned it, and I should have just stayed away. I could have, should have, retired and taken up golf or fishing or something. I can't figure out why you never called me on it. Then I find out that while you were holding the team together you were also secretly working for Jenny. Jesus, Tony, never mind how I felt finding out you'd been undercover and in a relationship with Benoit's daughter all that time! I saw your car blow up on the big screen in MTAC and a part of me died. That's the second time I thought I lost you. Do you have any idea what that was like; going to the scene and seeing that burned body in the driver's seat of your car and thinking it was you?"

Another staring contest ensued. Both men sat assessing the other as they picked at their lunches in silence. They both had a lot to process. Emotional blows had been landed with each revelation and confession. So many things over the years affecting both of them had gone unacknowledged until now. Wounds, both real and imagined that had been kept hidden, were ripped reopened. Tony was left stupefied by the sheer volume of words coming from Gibbs. He didn't know what to expect, but it certainly wasn't what came next.

Gibbs, fortified by the perception that he was making at least some inroads, took a sip of tea and cleared his throat again. Resigned to his fate, it was time to come clean. Come what may, it was past time to get to the heart of things that would impact the present, and hopefully, the future. Gibbs pushed his plate away and folded his hands on the table top.

"You want to know why I came here. Okay, here it goes. I've read your 'Dear Jethro' letter so many times I practically have it memorized. I gotta tell you, DiNozzo, you've sure put on a good act playing the ultimate playboy. All those women you bragged about and paraded around? Were any of them real?"

Waving off the questions with a chuckle, Gibbs continued, "Of course at least some, and I suspect most, of them were. It's kind of hard to fake what you had with Miss Benoit and Keates."

Wide eyed, Tony cocked his head. It seemed rather odd to him that Gibbs didn't refer to either woman by their first name. Did not saying their names somehow make them not real in Gibbs' mind?

"Okay, here goes nothing. I'm not sure what you want from me, but I'm sure we can figure it out together. We've been colleagues, boss and subordinate, and we've been friends for a long time. And …."

"Were, Gibbs. We _were_ friends," Tony said with a tired, defeated sigh.

The finality of those simple words stung. Gibbs tried his best to not let it show.

"And I want that back, Tony. I miss you showing up with pizza and beer. I miss you showing up for cowboy steak and an old John Wayne flick. I, ah hell Tony, I miss you. I'm just not sure I can change who I am, to be what you want me to be, what you need me to be. I can try, but I can't promise you anything. I've done a lot of thinking since you left. I just … don't know." Gibbs shrugged.

Tony nodded then stood, pulled out his wallet, and dropped a few bills on the table. He plastered on a fake smile and waited for Gibbs to call him on it. He didn't. Gibbs followed suit to make sure the check and tip were sufficiently covered. He was stalling.

"I gotta go. Good to see you, Gibbs. Tell everyone hello for me and let 'em know I'm okay. Sorry you wasted your time. So, you heading back to DC now or do you want me to see if there's a room available somewhere for tonight? It might be tough, though. I bet every place within 20 miles is booked up, what with a holiday weekend coming up."

"You trying to get rid of me, DiNozzo?" Gibbs managed a crooked half smile.

Tony snorted.

"I just don't see the point of dragging things out, that's all. I blew it by telling you how I felt in that stupid letter. So much for honesty, right? You want me back on the job, but you don't want me. I should have known you'd shoot me down. I can't really blame you. It must have been quite a shock finding out that I've had the hots for you. Not that I ever expected you to do anything about it or have any feelings for me. I'm not really your type am I? I'm too tall, too brunette, too male. I get it."

"You get what, DiNozzo?" Gibbs demanded.

Tony crossed his arms again, and stated, "That you are one hundred percent straight. Women only. Me? I consider myself to be equal opportunity. Anyway, I quit caring about gender years ago. I could have conned myself into a relationship with The Frog's son, if he had one, just as easily as I did with his daughter. I never let on to Jeanne that I was mostly faking it. I cared about her, and I guess in some way I loved her, or maybe just the idea of being in love with her. I don't know. Zoe knew, or at least suspected, I think. Whatever. Doesn't matter now. Only thing that matters now is you – and me, and apparently that just ain't gonna happen. But, like I said, I get it."

Squinting against the blazing mid-day sun, Gibbs stared in wonder at Tony. No, the sea breeze blowing Tony's slightly sun-bleached hair into a sexy mess of spikes was not messing with his senses! And Tony's deeply tanned and toned body was having no effect on him whatsoever. Shit.

Gibbs was suddenly struck by how Tony looked ten years younger than the last time he saw him. He stood straighter and taller, and he was definitely thinner. The tiny hints of gray hair around his temples were gone, as were the worry lines had once marred his forehead. His eyes were brighter and he looked like the weight of the world had been lifted from his broad shoulders. God, had things really gotten that bad? Was he the cause of all the stress Tony had been carrying around? Was there anything he could do? The simple answer was yes, but did he possess the courage to do what he needed to do? Gibbs closed his eyes for a brief moment and took a deep breath.

"Thank you, and enjoy the rest of your stay here in Bethany Beach," Susan said with a beaming smile as she pocketed the cash left with the check and began to clear the table. Gibbs opened his eyes and spun around. Tony was nowhere to be seen.

"Uh yeah, thank you," Gibbs stammered in response. "Keep the change."

Gibbs squared his shoulders and blended into a group of people strolling north on the boardwalk. He stopped and leaned on the weathered wooden railing to plan his next move, unsure that he had one. Looking out over the sandy beach below, he devised a plan. First, he would retreat to his hotel room to lick his wounds.

He had tried, but failed. Gibbs knew from the start that he faced long odds convincing Tony to come home. It was only Wednesday and the room was his until noon on Sunday, but since his mission had failed there would be no reason to stay more than one night. It was settled; after partaking in the complimentary breakfast, he would leave early in the morning under a cloud of defeat.

* * *

 _Arriving in town earlier_ _that morning_ _, Gibbs had walked into the Holiday Inn Express close to the beach to ask permission to leave his car parked in their lot for a couple of hours. That's when he_ _overheard_ _the young man at the front desk speaking on the phone with someone apparently cancelling a reservation. When he hung up, Gibbs took a shot and asked if he could take the room. Not one to haggle over prices or negotiate, he got stuck with a jacked up rate due to the upcoming holiday. He turned over his Discover card, signed in, and waited to receive his room key._

 _Gibbs retrieved his bag from the car and proceeded to his assigned room on the second floor. The standard room was clean and tastefully appointed, with two queen beds, a mini-bar, free Wi-Fi, not that he had any use for it, and a flat screen TV, but most importantly it had an in-room 8-cup coffeemaker with a wide assortment of pre-filtered coffee packets to choose from._

 _After a brief stop to use the head, he grabbed an overpriced bottle of water from the mini-bar fridge and_ _set_ _off for the beach where he figured he had the best chance of finding Tony. After all, that's where the babes in bikinis would be._

* * *

Continuing on his retreat back to the hotel, a familiar profile got Gibbs' attention. Peering through the large windows of the Boardwalk Arcade he saw Tony, on a – motorcycle?

"What the hell?" Gibbs muttered to himself as he snuck inside the dimly lit arcade unnoticed. From his carefully chosen vantage point beside a row of pinball machines across the room, he surreptitiously watched as a group of admiring, cheering kids grew around Tony.

Tony was the epitome of focused with just the tip of his tongue peeking out from between his lips, his eyes wide and wild with excitement and concentration. The digital score, or so that's what Gibbs assumed the rapidly changing digital number on the machine was, continued to count up. Tony looked like a confident and experienced rider as the realistic looking bright yellow motorcycle leaned from side to side and bounced over bumps as he steered the bike along the pre-programmed course as it appeared on the screen in front of him.

Gibbs couldn't help but smile at the child-like glee on Tony's face as he finished his turn. When it came to a rather spectacular and dramatic end, with animated video game Tony laying the bike over and sliding into a wall of hay bales after failing to navigate the course's single severe hairpin turn, real Tony climbed off the bike laughing. He was greeted with a series of high fives from the cheering crowd - "Tony, Tony, Tony!" A small-statured kid named "Robbie" climbed on the bike, pumped some quarters into the machine, and began a valiant attempt to knock Tony off of the leader board.

Still laughing as he pried himself away from his admirers, a vision leaning against a vintage pinball machine across the room caught his eye. Tony shook his head and strolled over to where Gibbs stood smiling at him.

"What are you still doing here?" Tony asked, slightly out of breath as he started to come down from his adrenaline rush. "Knowing how you drive, I thought you'd be half way back to DC by now."

"I, uh, was on my way back to the, my, um, hotel when I saw you. You looked like you were having fun," Gibbs replied.

Tony beamed. "Yeah, I was. That game is a blast. You want a turn? Wait! Hotel?"

Gibbs cleared his parched throat. "Yeah, I took a shot when I got into town. I'm staying at the Holiday Inn over on Jefferson. Thought it might be a good idea, just in case. Room's mine until noon on Sunday."

Gibbs' cheeks flushed and he looked away. Tony smirked.

"Oh. Okay. Um, well since you're staying I guess I could show you around. We could check out the town a little bit, if you want. They have all kinds of stuff going on. Concerts, movies, and I hear the fireworks they have planned for the Fourth are supposed to be pretty amazing."

"Sure. Sounds good. I should probably get some souvenirs. You know, to take back with me."

"Oh yeah, you definitely better or you'll never hear the end of it from Abby. Maybe I can help you pick some stuff out," Tony offered with a shrug.

The rest of the afternoon is spent window shopping and ducking into several shops and boutiques along the boardwalk and the surrounding streets. Tony played tour guide and provided commentary on the best places to shop. He introduced his "friend Jethro" to several of the shop owners and locals he had come to know pretty well during his stay in town. Gibbs found it both charming and a bit sad that Tony was so comfortable and at home in his new surroundings. They walked in lock step, leisurely strolling along among the tourists.

Tony sprang for refreshing sodas from a vendor cart – a frosty bottle of Dr. Pepper for him, and Pepsi for Gibbs. It was eerily reminiscent of the coffee kiosk they used to frequent on the grounds of the Navy Yard. Tony felt a sudden wave of nostalgia. Deciding it was a good time to take a short break from the mid-afternoon heat, Gibbs claimed a bench along the boardwalk railing, and used the opportunity to fill Tony in on the latest NCIS scuttlebutt. He took a long drink of his Pepsi and belched.

"You know, Vance is thinking about retiring. He's been offered a job up on the Hill as a lobbyist or something. I'm not really sure what or if he's gonna take it. You already know that McGee and Delilah are getting married. Ducky's slowing down a bit. I think Palmer is pretty much running the show these days. He still avoids me and runs off whenever I show up in Autopsy, unless Ducky isn't there to cover for him. I think he's coming around, though. And Abby is, well, Abby. Look Tony, all I know is it's not the same without you there. I really wish you'd reconsider coming back."

It sounded genuine and heartfelt, but it still was not enough.

"I wish I could, Gibbs. I don't know; maybe if someone else was running things. Hey, you should replace Vance as Director! You'd be great! I know you hate politics and all of that shit, but they need someone like you running things. No one I know can stand Vance. I don't think there's anyone in the building who doesn't trust you or wouldn't follow you, though."

Gibbs rolled his eyes and snorted. He never did take compliments well.

"Thanks, but not my style. Remember you said you hated bureaucrats and political ass kissers? Well I don't want to be either of those," Gibbs said with a chuckle.

Tony laughed. "Yeah, but you're also a bad ass Marine, so you've got that going for you."

It was late afternoon by the time they arrived at the Holiday Inn. Gibbs fumbled with the key card, but managed after a few attempts to unlock the door to his room. He threw the door open and headed straight for the air conditioning unit. The room was cold and almost dark due to heavy insulated curtains covering the windows. Tony flipped on the light switch by the door and followed Gibbs into the room. He carefully unloaded an armload of small shopping bags onto the nearby table.

As anticipated, the air conditioner was set to "Max A/C, so Gibbs turned the dial to a more reasonable setting. No one should have to break out a sweater in July to keep from freezing to death! After a minute or two the compressor and fan motor stopped, plunging the room into an awkward silence.

Tony's brow furrowed upon noticing that Gibbs could not look him in the eye. In fact, there must have been something fascinating going on with his sandals because he could not take his eyes off of them to even look up.

"You okay, Gibbs?" Tony asked.

Gibbs finally looked up, but his eyes darted all over the room. Tony was perplexed seeing him so nervous. He was usually the one rambling nonsense or tripping over himself whenever Gibbs was around. This was a whole new, completely messed up dynamic.

"Yeah, m'fine. Um, was thinking…hey, you hungry? We could get dinner or something. I mean, if you want to. Or, we could go for a walk down on the beach? I don't know."

Tony grinned. A nervous tongue-tied Gibbs was simply adorable, but also a wee bit scary.

Desperately trying to stave off a growing smirk, Tony asked teasingly, "Are you trying to woo me, Gibbs?"

Gibbs couldn't stop the blush from creeping up his cheeks if his life depended on it, and his red-tinged ears felt like they were on fire. He tried to stammer out something, anything to save himself, but the words would not come.

Tony threw his head back and laughed. "Oh my God, you totally are!"

Seeing an all too familiar death glare fixed upon him sobered Tony up pretty fast. He managed to pull himself together and bite back a fit of the giggles, but his beaming smile stayed put.

"You done, DiNozzo?" Gibbs attempted to bark. He failed; it came out as more of a pathetic plea for mercy.

"M'sorry, but damn Gibbs …," Tony stated with a nod, another short burst of the giggles, followed by total seriousness. "Okay, let's back up a minute. Look, I know I dropped a bomb on you with my good bye letter, and then I called you out on a whole bunch of other shit, I mean, stuff, just a few hours ago. It's pretty clear that we've got issues, Gibbs, a lot of them. I think we both need to step back and process. I mean, that you would even try to think about me as anything other than a co-worker or friend is kind of freaking me out. Don't get me wrong, I am flattered, but I'm not asking you to change what or who you are. I would never want that. We both have some stuff to sort out, so how about we go to neutral corners tonight and talk again tomorrow. Breakfast, lunch or dinner; it's your choice. Deal?"

Gibbs' nod was nearly imperceptible.

"I think that's a good idea, DiNo … Tony," Gibbs replied.

"You're a wise man, Leroy Jethro Gibbs," Tony stated as he turned toward the door. Reaching for the door knob with a shaky hand, he turned and asked, "How about breakfast? I know a little place with great coffee. I'll call you about seven?"

Gibbs couldn't do more than manage an affirmative nod.

"Okay then, see you in the morning. Night ... Jethro."

And with that, Tony was gone – again.

* * *

Tony arrived at the Dunkin' Donuts 15 minutes early to find Gibbs already seated in a window booth working on a steaming cup of coffee. He looked far too calm and relaxed for 0730, so Tony knew it wasn't his first cup of the day. Knowing the man so well, and having seen the coffee maker on the dresser in Gibbs' hotel room, Tony estimated he was probably already on cup number three or four. Yes, Dunkin' Donuts was known for their excellent coffee, but this particular shop was chosen because it was centrally located; it was just a short walk for both men.

Always the movie buff, Tony was reminded of the scene in "Goodfellas" when Jimmy Conway and Hank Hill meet at a diner before everything goes to hell.

"Mornin', Gibbs," Tony greeted as he slid into the booth opposite Gibbs. After placing the laptop he brought with him on the table, he peered between the slats of the mini blinds covering the window and let out a sigh of relief. "Whew, thank God – no phone booth," he whispered to no one in particular.

Across the table Gibbs abandoned the coffee mug at his lips and set it down.

"What the hell are you talking about, DiNozzo?"

Tony flashed his most disarming smile.

"Ummm, sorry. I was just thinking about the movie "Goodfellas". You know the scene where DeNiro makes a call from a phone booth outside of the diner and finds out that Joe Pesci got whacked? Well his character, Tommy, got whacked. Anyway, it was very dramatic. Kinda gross, but you know how gangsters are when it comes to killing."

Gibbs gaped at him for a long moment. Of course DiNozzo would ramble on about a movie. He always did, but this time it was more nostalgic than annoying. Also, for once, Gibbs knew what he was talking about; "Goodfellas" was one of his favorite films.

Tony placed their orders at the counter; a bacon, egg, and cheese croissant with a large dark roast coffee refill for Gibbs, and one double chocolate and one Boston Crème donut with a large hazelnut macchiato for himself. When he returned to the booth, he noticed Gibbs staring at his laptop.

"Need to check your email or something?" Gibbs asked.

Tony placed the tray on the table and retook his seat.

"No, ummm, I thought I'd show you some of the pictures I've taken. Flowers, trees, rocks, people I've met, the ocean; all much nicer to look at than bloody, gory crime scenes photos.

Gibbs smiled and nodded. Tony opened the computer, launched a file containing hundreds of his pictures, and set the iPhoto program to present the digital photos as a slide show while they ate.

"That's nice work, Tony. You always were good taking photos. You were better at sketches, I think, but you still did a pretty good job with the camera," Gibbs commented.

"Thanks," was Tony simple reply. Any affirmation of his skills by Gibbs was welcome.

* * *

Batteries recharged after a good night's sleep followed by a sugar and caffeine-laden breakfast, Tony and Gibbs decide to pay a return visit the arcade. Tony proudly showed Gibbs that he held the high score on damn near every machine. Noticing that his high score was possibly in jeopardy, Tony jumped back on the motorcycle to put his score out of reach once and for all.

"Damn that Robbie," Tony muttered under his breath. No 12-year old kid was going to best Tony DiNozzo!

Gibbs watched Tony for a few minutes then decided that old-school pinball was more his speed. He used the change machine in the corner to exchange a couple of crisp dollar bills from his wallet for quarters. He dumped a couple of quarters into the vintage '70s KISS pinball machine Tony had discovered him leaning against the day before. Gibbs was no pinball wizard, but he wasn't exactly a slouch either. Maybe he didn't wind up atop the leader board, but third place wasn't too shabby for a guy who hadn't played pinball in probably 25 years. Tony looked suitably impressed, which is what really mattered, right?

Tony and Gibbs spent the next couple of days leading up to the Fourth of July reconnecting and repairing their tattered friendship. No, they certainly weren't on a trial date or anything like that, don't be silly! They fell into comfortable companionship, spending the days exploring outlying parts of the resort town, swimming, relaxing on the beach, boating, water skiing, snorkeling, and sampling the local cuisine.

Cautious and unsure, they parted ways each evening, retreating to their respective rooms after dinner. Tony didn't want to put any undue pressure on Gibbs, who was starting to look beyond sexy after a couple of days in the sun. He could see that Gibbs was struggling to work things out in his head and hopefully in his heart.

Tony was a patient man but it was now Friday, and noon on Sunday when Gibbs had to check out of his hotel room was fast approaching. It was like a real life, all-male version of Cinderella, with noon on Sunday becoming the cliché stroke of midnight. Would Gibbs give him any hope or at least a valid reason for him to return to DC before time ran out? Their friendship seemed to be getting back on track, but was it enough? Tony struggled to think if there was any way he could get Gibbs' head and heart to talk to each other.

* * *

Saturday, July 4th. D-Day. Tony was fidgety and nervous all day, anticipating a final heart to heart with Gibbs about the elephant in the room – feelings, and what the hell to do about them. Gibbs, of course, was stoic and gave absolutely nothing away, which caused Tony even more distress. The man's ability to hide his emotions was one reason why Tony never invited him to his monthly poker game. Unlike Gibbs, McGee, Palmer, Abby, and on a couple of occasions Ducky and even Vance, all had less than subtle tells that Tony could exploit.

Sitting on a blanket in the sand, Tony and Gibbs watched the sky light up in every color of the rainbow. A jazz band up on the boardwalk playing patriotic songs added another dimension to the festivities. There were plenty of real and metaphorical fireworks ahead; Tony could just feel it.

It had been years since Gibbs enjoyed fireworks. He never suffered from classic PTSD symptoms, but the exploding shells did bring back plenty of battlefield memories. If he closed his eyes he could easily distinguish between the 82mm mortars and the equivalent of 122mm artillery shells when they exploded overhead. Eyes open, he was mesmerized by their beauty as they burst into a variety of colored shapes. They sure weren't that pretty when he had to duck and cover in the desert sand from incoming enemy rounds.

Gibbs glanced over at Tony sitting next to him. Tony was transfixed by the fireworks display overhead. He was close enough that Gibbs could feel Tony's body heat, but not so close that they touched. Gibbs didn't dare do more than look. For the first time since Shannon, butterflies threatened to take flight in his stomach. He wanted to say something, but once again words failed him. His heart and his head had been in a battle royale for days. Could he change who he was for Tony? Was he willing to risk everything to be in a relationship with him? What if it ended in disaster like every other relationship since Shan?

Hours of thought and internal debate each night as he tried to sleep brought Gibbs to a moment of truth. Right here, right now, it was time to take a stand. He was about to declare a winner of the battle, but Tony spoke first.

"It's gonna be hard to leave this, Gibbs. That's IF I go back to DC," Tony warned, his eyes not leaving the sky. "I love it here. I really do. These people have been good to me. IF I go back, it won't be to get my job back. I don't trust Vance or Sec Nav or any of them anymore. That's not negotiable. I just can't – won't."

"Tony, please look at me".

During a brief pause in the fireworks Tony turned to Gibbs and their eyes locked. Unable to resist any longer, Gibbs leaned forward and placed the sweetest of kisses on Tony's slightly parted, warm, welcoming lips.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: A big thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this story. I apologize if I have not replied directly. I read all reviews and appreciate them very much - even the negative ones. I am humbled by the response to this story.

I'm sorry, but I just could not let the sins of the NCIS writers go un-avenged. I don't know what happened between Mark and Michael to cause so much obvious tension, and to be honest I really don't care. All I do know is that Tony and Michael deserved better than the crap TPTB and the writers (including the late Gary G.) doled out for Tony's exit. Okay, then …

Summary: We leave Bethany Beach behind for more familiar environs. Our heroes still have some issues to work out, but with a little help they just might make it! Big changes and new challenges lie ahead.

Disclaimer: I still don't own anything. I'm just borrowing CBS characters and places for a little harmless fun. I am making no money from this work of fiction, and no copyright infringement is intended.

Warning: No beta for this chapter, so all mistakes are mine. I try to catch them all before posting, but sometimes I miss a few.

* * *

Tony opened the door and was greeted with a waft of stale air. With the flip of a switch, frosted glass pendant lights above the kitchen island and wall sconces in the living room came on, bathing the open floor plan in a soft glow. Tony felt like an intruder in his own home despite everything being just as he had left it. The large decorative clock on the wall behind the bar read 1:18.

He walked across the polished hardwood floors to his bedroom. He switched on a bedside lamp after tossing his overnight bag and shaving kit onto the bed. The rest of his luggage would be safe locked in his car until morning. He was too tired to think about retrieving it at this late hour. Tony glanced around the room. Satisfied that everything seemed in order, he made a cursory inspection of the rest of his condo, opening several windows to allow for a gentle breeze to blow through and air out the stuffy rooms.

Tony then turned his attention to the kitchen. He opened the empty refrigerator and dialed in the recommended temperature settings. The compressors kicked in as soon as he closed the side-by-side doors. Except for a few spices, cookware, and dishes, the cupboards and pantry were also bare. There was no need to waste time writing a grocery list; he was out of damn near everything.

Mentally and physically tired, Tony shuffled back to his bedroom where he stripped down to his boxer briefs and t-shirt. He grabbed his shaving kit from the bed and took it into the bathroom. Face washed and teeth brushed and flossed, Tony literally fell into bed. He struggled for several minutes to get comfortable. This bed was much firmer than the one he had become accustomed to at the Addy Sea. When he finally got settled, Tony heard the ice maker drop a few fresh cubes into the freezer's empty ice bin as he drifted off into a dream-filled sleep. He smiled.

The next morning, sweaty and a wee bit cranky after returning from a three-mile run, Tony sank down into the welcoming embrace of his favorite overstuffed armchair. He was paying the price for taking a few days off to play tour guide. His body wasn't as forgiving as it had been in his younger days and it needed a longer recovery time.

Not only was he tired from driving in the middle of the night to get home, he twisted his ankle misjudging the terrain of a hill in Waterfront Park. From 1 to 10 on his sports injury pain scale, this weighed in at an annoying 2 – maybe a 3. So far, Wednesday was not off to a great start.

A large to-go cup of hazelnut crème coffee and a small white bag containing the crumbed remnants of a blueberry muffin sat on the end table next to him. The impromptu breakfast he picked up while limping the last mile home would have to tide him over until he could get something more substantial.

A long day lay ahead. Tony's stomach growled, indicating that the first order of business was a trip to the supermarket.

"C'mon, DiNozzo. Let's get this over with," Tony muttered as he stood and stretched.

The breakfast detritus was gathered up and disposed of it in the trash. Tony checked to make sure that he had his wallet and cell phone on him, then grabbed his keys from the small onyx bowl he kept on a table by the door.

When he reached his car, Tony dropped his head back and growled, "Fuck!"

The back of his shiny new SUV was loaded with boxes and bags filled with gifts he had been given and mementos he had picked up during his travels, and the rest of his luggage. Everett, the building's doorman, trotted over and offered his assistance.

This was Everett's third summer working there to earn a little extra spending money. He was about to start his senior year at Georgetown University, where he was the starting middle linebacker on the football team. Half an hour later Tony's car was empty, with the contents now stacked neatly in the middle of his living room. The twenty dollar tip Tony offered was politely refused, the "Thanks, man" was accepted with a nod and a smile.

Tony climbed behind the wheel, fastened his seat belt, and turned the key. He revved the Buick Enclave's engine a few times before backing out of his parking space. Gone were the days of high horsepower flashy cars, which seemed to bring him nothing but grief. Tony never pictured himself owning such a conservative vehicle, but witnessing the utter destruction of his beloved Corvette during a high speed chase on live television then seeing the video of his vintage Mustang exploding were almost too much to bear. Maybe he would have better luck keeping this car from meeting such a dramatic and tragic end.

Turning onto the street, Tony headed south across the Potomac toward Arlington, Virginia. He wagered that grocery shopping in the late morning in the middle of the week would be a relatively safe venture. He didn't expect anyone to be looking for him, but he wasn't prepared to run into anyone he knew. They would have questions and he didn't have answers.

While navigating the familiar streets, Tony created a mental to-do list. Once his pantry, freezer, and fridge were restocked he would turn his attention to giving his condo a thorough cleaning. The thin even layer of dust on every flat surface had not gone unnoticed. No one would ever accuse him of being a Martha Stewart clone with a touch of OCD, but Tony took pride in his home.

He had carefully chosen every piece of furniture and all of the artwork that adorned his walls. Most of his art consisted of framed classic movie and concert posters of jazz and blues legends, but there were also a few canvases that he had picked up over the years. Invitations to gallery shows, a keen eye, and a working knowledge of art history had paid off. Tony's tastes were much like his late mother's; they were eclectic but complimentary. His condo was fairly large and located in an upscale neighborhood, but the decor wasn't opulent or pretentious. It was tasteful, neat and clean, far from the dorm room or frat house chic that Kate would have expected.

* * *

Next on Tony's list was a job. He was, by all accounts, a wealthy man thanks to savvy investments and retirement planning, but the funds available in his investment and bank accounts would not last forever. Unlike his father, Tony wasn't content to measure his success solely in financial terms. Senior had taught him how to be a rich man, but not how to be a good man. He wanted more out of life than money and prestige; he wanted and needed to work. The thought of spending his days lounging around as a man of leisure would drive him insane.

Government contributions to his Federal Employees Retirement System account and a couple of Roth IRAs would keep him comfortable in retirement, but that was many years away. Tony was the sole beneficiary of a trust set up by his mother in her Will. She had brought considerable assets to her marriage, and she wanted to make sure they were passed on to her beloved son. Tony received annual distributions from the trust, but thanks to Senior abusing his authority as Trustee to finance his conman lifestyle, the annual stipends were nominal. To supplement his cash reserves, Tony made sure that a portion of each pay check was deposited into his savings account.

Tony could afford the finer things in life, but contrary to popular opinion he wasn't motivated by shallow materialism. That didn't stop him from having a closet full of expensive designer suits, a luxury automobile, an impressive collection of antique furniture, several first edition classic novels, and a Steinway piano. It was all about quality over quantity.

Jet setting and vacationing in the Hamptons, Aspen, or on the French Riviera never held any interest for Tony. He had suffered a lifetime of that during his childhood. By the tender age of ten, he had become skilled at working the room at champagne soaked affairs while playing the role of dutiful son and heir to the DiNozzo fortune. The picture-perfect family his parents presented to the world was the first of many cons perpetuated by Senior. Tony wouldn't find out until years later that there was no DiNozzo fortune; his father had squandered it to finance his conman lifestyle while he was away at boarding school and college.

Tony's mother doted on him and did her best to give him a normal childhood. She strived to give him a family life like those depicted on TV and in the movies, but social pressures and old-money family expectations wouldn't allow it. Instead of spending a Saturday afternoon baking cookies with his mom like normal kids, he was left in the care of the cook and nanny. It was no surprise that his mother turned to alcohol to numb the pain of her loneliness.

The wealthy eligible playboy bachelor image Tony had been expected to project was a fraud then and would be an even bigger fraud now. Returning to those fake but familiar affluent social circles would lead to inquiries into his personal life followed by attempts to set him up with the perfect bride. It seemed that many of Senior's former associates had a beautiful young daughter that would be his perfect match. The idea of living a lie in a mansion on the hill with a plastic trophy wife, a couple of spoiled brats, and probably the mother of all ulcers made Tony cringe. Besides, he wanted to do something to leave his mark on the world; to leave his little part of it a better place. That ideal is what drove him to become a cop in the first place. This was the catalyst for countless arguments with Senior over the years about his future. Tony took Senior's insult of "you're just like your mother" as a compliment.

* * *

The last item on Tony's list was what the hell to do about the "Gibbs Situation". Gibbs had given him the gift of time to think and figure some things out, and that's exactly what he was going to do. He sure hoped that Gibbs was doing the same. Tony chuckled at the absurdity of the whole situation.

Gibbs' lousy track record when it came to relationships was no secret. It wasn't like ex-wives, namely Diane, popping back into his life creating chaos hadn't been a giant red flag. Tony was under no illusion that he could change Gibbs, not that he wanted to try. As far as he was concerned, despite all evidence to the contrary, Gibbs was damn near perfect. Yes, he was a cranky bastard most of the time, emotionally closed off, and he could be a complete pain in the ass, but he was still Gibbs. Among his finer qualities, the man was gorgeous, sexy, an instant friend to kids and animals, single, and apparently Tony's if he wanted him. Tony was willing to forgive Gibbs his sins of the past couple of years, but he would never forget.

Getting into a relationship, a romantic one at that, with Gibbs was bound to be fraught with pitfalls and they would need to tread carefully. How would their mutual friends react to such shocking news? McGee would likely die of shock at the ridiculous notion of his boss and best friend dating. They could probably count on Ellie to take the news in stride like she did pretty much everything else. Ducky would offer heartfelt congratulations then bore them to death with some long-winded story apropos of nothing. Palmer could be counted on to offer his support and continue to serve as Tony's confidant, and Abby would be over the moon. Since he was no longer under the employ of NCIS, Tony didn't give a damn what Vance might think, though he as pretty sure the man would have an opinion to share. He'd let Gibbs worry about any fallout from the esteemed Director. If Senior found out, he found out. His opinion didn't matter to Tony one way or another.

How to tell everyone, when to tell them, assuming there ended up being anything to tell, would require some thought and careful planning. Maybe they should sit down and discuss the potential fallout over cowboy steaks and a few beers.

* * *

Tony hip checked the door closed, toed out of his shoes, and deposited the last of the plastic grocery bags onto the granite-topped island in his kitchen. He flexed his forearms to restore circulation cut off by trying to carry as many bags as he could at once. Three trips to his car and back; two for all of the bags of food and one for a 6-pack of Gibbs' favorite beer and two bottles of wine. He hadn't gone crazy at the market, in case his return ended up being an abbreviated one, but restocking even the basics proved to be a daunting task. Tony switched on the Bose radio next to the fridge. Singing along to his favorite classic rock station, Tony made short work of putting away his groceries. He bought enough food to give him several meal options for a week or two.

After a long hot shower, Tony returned to the kitchen for a glass of orange juice and to search for a snack. His cell phone buzzed to life on the counter and played the default tone indicating a new voicemail. Correctly surmising that he had missed a call while getting dressed, Tony moved to the built in desk and pulled a notepad and pen from the drawer. He instantly recognized the caller's number and grinned. Pen in hand, he took a deep breath, swore a little prayer, and played the voicemail on speaker.

"Yeah, hey Tony. Dave Rossi. It was good to hear from you the other day. I put in a good word with my boss and he'd like to meet with you tomorrow. Can you be here at say, 9:00? If we get called out, I'll call and let you know," the gruff, heavily New York accented voice announced. "Okay, just give me a call back when you get this and we'll set it up."

Dave Rossi was an acquaintance dating back to when Tony was a fledgling NCIS Special Agent fresh out of FLETC. He had been called in to consult on a couple of cases back when Tony and Gibbs were a two-man team. Not only was Dave Rossi an award-winning author, writing predominately about cases in which he had been involved as an investigator and profiler, he was a Supervisory Special Agent and Senior Field Agent in the FBI's highly specialized Behavioral Analysis Unit (BAU) of the National Center for the Analysis of Violent Crime (NCAVC) based in Quantico. He was a legend at the FBI, who also just happened to be a former Marine.

Tony had called Dave on a whim Monday morning after spending the better part of Sunday sitting on the beach weighing the pros and cons of _possibly_ returning to DC. Being offered a position on the elite BAU would have a major influence on his decision. Tony's career as a decorated police officer, detective, and federal agent looked impressive on his resume, but likely wouldn't be enough to be considered for a spot on the team. Add in bachelor's degrees in behavioral science and criminal justice that he had earned attending night school, however, and his chances were vastly improved.

Three years as an FBI general special agent was required for application and advancement to the BAU, but Rossi had assured Tony that his law enforcement experience, years as an NCIS SFA under the direct supervision of a fellow Marine and legendary badass Jethro Gibbs would earn him a waiver of that requirement. Yes, scuttlebutt crossed agencies and Gibbs was known pretty much everywhere, at least by reputation.

Tony tapped the 'call back' option on his phone to dial Rossi's number. Waiting for the call to connect felt like an hour.

"Yeah, Rossi."

"Oh, hey Dave, it's Tony, um, Tony DiNozzo. I, uh, just got your message..."

After several minutes and some diligent note taking, Tony ended the call and did a little victory dance, his twisted ankle all but forgotten. He confirmed 9:00 a.m. tomorrow for an interview with Rossi and his boss at Quantico.

Tony's mind was abuzz. He needed to think, but first he needed a proper haircut. Quickly scrolling through the contact list on his phone, Tony stopped when he reached the number for his stylist, Sandra. She could squeeze him in at 3:00. Perfect! He had made the mistake of going to a Supercuts™ somewhere in North Carolina. The stylist assigned to him must have been a recent beauty school graduate since it took several weeks before his hair grew out enough that he could, with the help of a lot of product, style it. Never again would he trust his hair to anyone other than Sandra. In fact, he owed her a large bouquet of flowers as penance for his disloyalty in allowing anyone else to even touch his hair.

* * *

Tony put his feet up on the railing of his balcony and poured himself a second glass of Chardonnay. Looking out over the bustling city below, Tony realized just how much he had missed it. The sights and sounds of the big city were oddly comforting.

The sun was beginning to set on a hectic but good day. Thanks to Sandra, his hair looked great again, his condo was clean and Febreze™ fresh, and he had prepared a rather tasty chicken stir-fry for dinner. Tony was tired but content. It was indeed good to be home.

The balcony was Tony's favorite place to relax, especially on cool evenings. French doors opened to it from the living room. It was big enough to allow for a three-piece bistro set, a pair of chaise lounges, and four pots of petunias. Palmer had been put in charge of watering his plants and bringing in the mail. The petunias and potted palms in the living room looked like they had been recently watered. To make sure they kept to a strict feeding schedule, Palmer had taken physical custody of his goldfish, Kate and Ziva.

Tony took a sip of wine and frowned at the stack of mail piled in the middle of the glass bistro table. Commemorative US Navy letter opener in hand, he began the tedious task of opening and sorting it. Obvious junk mail was thrown into a box by his feet to be shredded later. Bills, cards, and anything remotely official looking, were placed in a pile to be dealt with tomorrow.

By the time he finished his mail sorting project, Tony was buzzed. Maybe drinking a whole bottle of wine hadn't been such a great idea. He dropped the small box of junk mail next to the trash can in the kitchen, and piled the rest of the mail neatly on his desk. Tony locked the French doors, turned out the lights, and headed for his bedroom to pick out a suit to wear to his job interview. He hoped his favorite Armani suit still fit.

Unable to sleep, Tony stared at the ceiling and thought about everything that had transpired the past week. He had been thrown the ultimate curve ball and was afraid to swing at it. Everything he wanted and had dreamed of seemed possible, but at the same time nothing made sense.

It had only been a few days since Gibbs threw caution to the wind and made his grand gesture. That unexpected ghost of a kiss, under a fireworks lit sky, was soft, tentative, sweet, and all too brief. Tony wasn't completely sure it really happened, until it was followed the next morning by one that conveyed much more promise.

* * *

 _Tony strolled to the Holiday Inn Sunday morning to join Gibbs for breakfast and to say a proper_ _goodbye_ _. The sleepy_ _seaside_ _town was coming to life once again as the sun rose over the Atlantic. While many residents_ _were getting ready for_ _church, others formed crews to begin cleaning up from last night's Fourth of July celebrations._

 _Trash cans that had been strategically placed on the beach and along the boardwalk were filled to overflowing. Volunteers with trash bags scoured the beach and picked up_ _trash_ _._ _Recycling bins had been brought in to sort paper, plastic, cardboard, and glass._ _Flags of all sizes were gathered up to be taken to the local FVW for proper disposal. Businesses began taking down all of the red, white, and blue bunting and streamers that_ _adorning_ _their storefronts._ _Boardwalk vendors were busy restocking their food and drink carts like any normal Sunday._

 _The Bethany Beach Holiday Inn put out a pretty good compliment_ _ary breakfast buffet._ _After rather bashful "good morning" greetings, Tony and Gibbs loaded up plates and found an empty corner table. Much of last night was still a blur and Tony needed answers, but he wasn't sure_ _what_ _questions to ask._ _Gibbs didn_ _'t look like he was prepared to offer any answers, either._

 _After the blazing fireworks finale, they had once again gone their separate ways. A lingering awkwardness hung between them as they said good night. Tony's head was spinning and Gibbs didn't appear to be much better off._ _K_ _issing him in public had been a bold move, not that many people_ _likely saw_ _it. It happened so fast under cover of darkness while surrounded by a host of holiday distractions. If asked to testify, Tony could swear under oath that_ _he had just imagined it_ _._

 _Tony stared out the window and tried to figure out the best way to bring up the elephant in the room. Th_ _at_ _kiss, and what the heck it meant!_

 _"Hey, you still with me?" Gibbs asked before biting off a piece of crispy bacon._

 _Startled, Tony looked at Gibbs and stammered, "Uh, yeah. I think so. Actually_ _..._ _I'm not entirely sure what's going on."_

 _Gibbs smirked. There was the stammering, nervous Tony he_ _knew so well_ _._

 _With a shrug, Gibbs said,_ _"_ _I'm not_ _either, but I told you we'll figure it out._ _You j_ _ust gotta tell me what you want from me. I'm willing to try, to do whatever it takes. But a lot of that depends on you, Tony. I've had a really good time these past few days._ _I'm not_ _sure where we go from here, but I_ _think_ _you at least have some idea how I feel. I hope you do, anyway. You know I'm not good with words, so ..."_

 _Tony_ _cracked a smirk_ _, remembering_ _sitting together at_ _the very family friendly movie "Finding Dory"_ _Thursday night, standing_ _among_ _the f_ _lag-waving_ _crow_ _d at_ _the patriotic parade_ _Friday afternoon, and the blues concert on the boardwalk Friday night. Being_ _with Gibbs_ _at these public events had just felt right._ _Then there was sitting side by side on a blanket, on the beach, under the stars last night. It was such a cliché romantic setting, and that's when without any warning, everything changed._

 _"Yeah, I get that. So, I didn't just imagine - that kiss?" Tony implored hopefully in hushed tones. To stop himself from saying more, he stuffed a forkful of pancakes into his mouth. He grabbed a napkin and absently wiped maple syrup from his chin._

 _Gibbs blushed and began to fidget._

 _"U_ _m_ _no, you didn't. I don't know. It just seemed like the right thing to do at the time."_

 _It was Tony's turn to blush._

 _"So now what?"_

 _Gibbs shrugged ag_ _ain_ _._

 _"I don't know, but I think we both need to think about this, whatever this is, don't you?"_

 _"Yes, totally! Think. That's a good idea, Gibbs!" Tony exclaimed_ _before he launched into an excited monologue._ _"Okay. Oh my God, this is crazy_ _! B_ _ut whatever happens, happens, right?_ _I mean,_ _I get it. This is big_ _friggin_ _deal. I don't know how you can sit there looking all calm, cool, and collected while I'm freaking the hell out over here, but whatever. I guess if we try and things don't work out, at least we can say we tried and stay friends, right? No one ever has to know. I mean, if we_ _can_ _get back_ _to_ _being fri_ _ends again,_ _I don't want to do anything to blow_ _that_ _._ _And if_ _it does work out, well then that will bring up a whole new bunch of questions._ _Hey_ _, if you want to give us a try, and I know that's a mighty big IF, I'm all in."_

 _Gibbs cut Tony off before the inevitable 'but'. His right hand involuntarily grasped Tony's left, where it rested on top of the table. The look of shock bordering on terror on Tony's face would have been comical under different circumstances._

 _"Yeah. I want to try. I can't promise you anything except that I won't give up if you don't. But we gotta be damn sure about this, DiNozzo. And can we keep this, you know, between us, at least for now? I want to do things right and I don't think I can with anyone else getting in the middle of it - us."_

 _Gobsmacked_ _, Tony could only nod and mutter, "Sure. Just us." It came out as a rather embarrassing squeak. Tony rolled his eyes at his own gaffe. Both men laughed, breaking the tension._

 _Breakfast was finished_ _without further embarrassment. Tony peppered Gibbs with questions about the team and cases, which he expected were safe topics. The more Gibbs filled him in the more Tony realized how much he missed McGee, Abby, Ducky,_ _the Gremlin,_ _and even Ellie._

 _The dining area was beginning to fill up so_ _Tony and Gibbs_ _gave up their table to_ _a young family. Having already checked out, Gibbs picked up and shoulder_ _ed_ _his go-bag._ _They reached the parking lot to find dozens of people milling about the hotel grounds. Other guests who were checking out that morning were loading their cars as new arrivals pulled in._

 _Gibbs unlocked and opened the passenger door and threw his bag onto the seat._ _He shut the car door_ _and_ _turned to face Tony, who still looked a bit bewildered._ _Tuning out the few gawking onlookers, he_ _took Tony's face in his st_ _rong_ _calloused hands and looked him squarely in the eye._

 _"Hey, it's gonna be okay. Trust me_ _. W_ _e'll figure it out. You hear me?"_

 _Tony nodded._ _"Yeah, I hear you. Drive carefully, Jethro," Tony pleaded softly. "I'll call you in a few days, 'kay?"_

 _Gibbs_ _cracked his famous half-smirk_ _._

 _"Sure. Take all the time you need. I'm not going anywhere. We'll talk, when you're ready, when we're both ready. You know_ _how to reach me._ _"_

 _"_ _S_ _uch a gentleman," Tony teased. If he hoped to get some reaction out of Gibbs, he wasn't disappointed._

 _A firm arm wrapped around his waist and pulled him close. Seconds later, Gibbs' lips descended on his, crushing them together and_ _conveying_ _a clear message. Spun around and backed up against the car door, Tony held on for dear life as Gibbs ever so gently deepened the kiss. A few surpr_ _ised gasps mixed with the cries of several seagulls circling overhead._

 _When he was finally released, Tony was breathless and a bit dizzy._ _S_ _mug and smirking, Gibbs rounded the hood of the car whistling a little tune._ _He_ _climbed in behind the wheel, and seconds later the Hemi engine roared to life._

 _Still a bit stunned, Tony waved as Gibbs drove off leaving a thin cloud of tire smo_ _ke in his wake_ _and disappeared around the corner half a block away. He wondered if Gibbs missed him already._

 _Tony_ _walked back_ _to the Addy Sea on auto pilot to find that housekeeping had already tidied up his room._ _After giving his breakfast a chance to settle, he_ _changed into his running clothes and stretched. A_ _nice_ _long_ _walk_ _would help clear his head, or so he hoped. He grabbed his wallet, phone, and keys and headed_ _out_ _the door._

 _Decisions about a great many things needed to be made_ _,_ _and soon. Tony wouldn't have any problem vacating his room; his lease was an informal arrangement, and due to high demand_ _the_ _room would not sit empty for long._

 _The big question was whether he was ready or willing to trust Gibbs with his heart. Gibbs had owned up and apologized for both his professional and personal_ _sins_ _, and now he was willing to risk everything for him. Tony felt he owed him at least a chance to prove himself._

 _On a personal level, Gibbs was offering so much more than a chance to repair and renew their fragile friendship. This was Gibbs making a fundamental change to who he was and had always been as a man. How do you ask a tough as nails Marine, with three divorces under his belt after the deaths of his beloved first wife and young daughter, a man more damaged than probably anyone else alive, to become an entirely different person? If Gibbs had been hiding his true identity like some comic book superhero, he_ _had done a masterful job_ _._

 _Professionally,_ _a_ _s much as he had once loved his former career, Tony was adamant that returning to NCIS was out. Did he even want to stay in law enforcement? If not fighting crime_ _or doing his small part to protect the country_ _, what else could he see himself doing for the next 20_ _or 30 years_ _? He certainly had the necessary charm and enough moxie to make it in politics, but it would have to be something behind the scenes. Tony dismissed that idea out of hand; it would be too much like being undercover permanently. Besides, he couldn't think of anyone he'd sell his soul for on the Hill. Now if Gibbs changed his mind about politics…_

 _Twenty minutes into his_ _walk_ _, Tony stopped to buy a bottle of grape_ _-flavored_ _vitamin water from one of the boardwalk vendors. While pulling a couple of singles out of his wallet, an old business card that he'd been carrying around for years_ _fell out_ _. Tony picked it up, turned it over, and smiled._

 _H_ _e ran_ _his_ _thumb over the raised seals of the Justice Department and FBI, and the embossed name and phone number on the front. Tony stared at it for a few minutes like it was some sort of talisman holding all of life's answers then placed it back in his wallet. He set_ _an alert i_ _n his phone to remind him call the number tomorrow morning._ _Tony_ _hoped that the person who gave_ _the card_ _to him remembered who he was._

 _Tony wanted to call Palmer to share the exciting details of the last few days. He was about to bust at the seams but wanted to honor the promise he had just made to Gibbs to keep things between them._ _Palmer had proven that he could be trusted with his deepest, darkest secrets, but a promise was a promise._ _Tony took a long drink of his water and then set out to finish h_ _is_ _walk_ _. Somewhere, a clock stuck_ _noon_ _._

* * *

"Gibbs, Gibbs, Gibbs, Gibbs," was the excited mantra Gibbs heard just seconds before he was enveloped in a rib-crushing hug. The large Caf-Pow! cup was nearly knocked from his hand, but Abby relieved him of it before a single drop was spilled.

Gibbs wheezed a couple of times earning his release. "Hey, Abs!"

"Oh my God, Gibbs! I'm so glad you're back. I missed you so much," Abby said before placing a kiss on his cheek, leaving a blood red lip print behind. Accustomed to such exuberant greetings, Gibbs pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped it off without comment.

"I mean, I had to get my own Caf-Pows the whole time you were gone," Abby protested. Gibbs rolled his eyes.

Bishop and McGee, followed a few moments later by Ducky and Palmer, paraded into Abby's lab. They all stopped dead in their tracks at seeing a tanned Gibbs standing before them decked out in cut off jean shorts, a red fitted t-shirt, and a pair of Nikes.

"Gibbs?"

"Oh, hey Boss!"

"Jethro, my boy!"

"Um, Agent Gibbs. It's, uh, good to see you, sir."

Gibbs snorted. Only a gruff, "I thought I told you two weeks," from Leon Vance was missing.

He found himself peppered with questions to which he had few answers. Most adamant about getting information was Abby. Gibbs knew he was guilty of enabling Abby, who usually if not always got what she wanted, but in his defense it was the only sure way of keeping the peace. Yes, she could be whiny, childish, petulant, demanding, a tad selfish, and even overbearing at times, but Abby possessed a big heart and her intentions were good. That didn't mean that years of everyone caving in to her demands hadn't taken its toll and given her unreasonable expectations.

"When did you get back? Wait, aren't you still on vacation? Hey, did you find Tony? Did you bring him back? Where is he? How is he? Does he miss me, I mean us? Is he coming back? When? What can we do to get him back? Gibbs, say something!"

"Abigail," Ducky admonished, adding a stern look of disapproval. "I am sure we will hear all about Anthony in due time."

"Yeah, Abby," Palmer snapped in Ducky's defense. "Some things are none of our – I mean _your_ – business. Maybe you should try and remember why Tony left in the first place."

Abby's joyful demeanor turned dark and sullen. Her behavior and demands on Tony had been spelled out in his letter to Gibbs and even further in his letter to her. Tony had insinuated that Abby saw him as competition and someone who threatened her status as Gibbs' favorite. He declared that notion preposterous since she could never be replaced. Tony's letter to Abby had been diplomatic, but he made it clear that he just couldn't take it anymore. He loved her but he was tired of being treated like an outsider and feeling like he was in constant competition with her.

Tony and Abby had once been very close. Whenever Gibbs was unavailable to run off a creepy would-be suiter, Tony would be called to step in and scare him off even if it meant bailing a promising date. He acted more like a big brother than a friend, and Abby used that familial bond to insert herself into one part of Tony's life where she did not belong – his love life. She would drag him to clubs all over the city hoping to set him up with friends of hers. Never mind they had nothing in common, Abby thought Tony would be perfect for pretty much everyone she knew – male or female. She never asked and he never told, but Abby had a sixth sense and wasn't afraid to employ it.

As the years went by, Tony tried to distance himself from Abby, at least socially, but she thought she knew best and reminded him of it every chance she got. The more he tried to act like a mature adult, the more she regressed. She never held back when it came to voicing her negative opinion of Jeanne Benoit and that whole messed up situation. It didn't matter that Tony was heartbroken when it ended, and Abby couldn't be bothered to show him even a hint of sympathy. Any time he approached her to talk about it, she changed the subject. She was only marginally better years later when Zoe Keates appeared on the scene.

Gibbs had been so consumed with distancing himself from Tony that he hadn't seen how badly Abby had been treating him. All of her personal failures and shortcomings were projected onto Tony, like he was the reason for all of her personal problems. If she was miserable in love or in life, then by God Tony was expected to be as well. That's what friends did for each other, right?

"Thanks, Palmer," Gibbs said with a nod to the young medical examiner. "I know Tony's kept in touch with you. I appreciate that you've been there for him when the rest of us, mostly me, let him down."

Gibbs extended his right hand. Once he recovered from the initial shock Palmer obliged and shook it.

"Uh, happy to do it, uh Gibbs," Palmer stammered.

Gibbs crossed his arms and leaned back against Abby's computer work station.

"Okay, here's what I can tell you. I've been back a couple of days, since Sunday. Yes, I found Tony. He's been in Delaware for a while. I'm not telling you where in Delaware, though. He's happy and he really likes it there. We spent some time together and talked. I don't know what he's thinking or if he's even considering coming back to DC. I hope he does, but I do know one thing; he will _not_ be coming back to work here. I told him how much everyone misses him but apparently that's not enough. I know that Tony misses all of you, too. He gave me a dozen good reasons why he wouldn't come back to work, and I respect every single one of them. As his boss and his friend I really let him down. That's on me and that's mostly what we talked about. I'm sure he'll reach out to each of you when - IF - he's ready. For now that's all I'm going to say, so get back to work or whatever you were doing. I still have stuff I need to do, so is there anything I need to know before I go?"

"Wait! You mean to tell me you've been back for two whole days and you're just now coming to see me?" Abby scolded, stabbing her finger at Gibbs' sternum.

The room fell silent. Gibbs scowled and gently swatted Abby's hand away.

"Been a little busy," he snapped. "Didn't know I was required to check in."

Gibbs shot a parting glare at her and strode for the door. Abby gaped at being dismissed in such a manner.

Bishop and McGee followed Gibbs out as quietly as possible. Huddled at the elevator doors, they gave detailed reports on a couple of cold cases that were threatening to heat up. Gibbs gave his standard set of orders to keep following up on leads.

"That's good work. Call if you need help with anything. Otherwise, I'll see you Monday, 0700. Oh, and if I hear anything from Tony before then I'll let you know."

"Thanks, Boss. If you do hear from Tony, please tell him that we're sorry about everything and that we really miss him and want him to come back. It's just not the same around here without him," McGee said as the doors closed, leaving Gibbs standing in the hallway outside of Abby's lab.

"Jethro, a word if you don't mind," Ducky requested, with a tone of authority that left no room for discussion or disobedience. Palmer was purposefully left behind to "assist" Abby.

"Sure Duck," Gibbs replied.

Not a word was spoken as he followed the diminutive Scotsman to autopsy. Once there, Ducky turned to face him.

"And on a more personal level about Anthony, Jethro? Anything to report on that front?" Ducky inquired. His soft-spoken words held no judgment or condemnation, but they did hold plenty of wonder and curiosity.

Gibbs shook his head. Ducky was the only other person privy to the "Dear Jethro" letter that Tony had written. Aided by his training in forensic psychology, along with all of the worldly wisdom he possessed, Ducky was singularly qualified to counsel Gibbs. Countless pots of Earl Grey tea and a couple of bottles of bourbon had been consumed during their search for answers. It was the learned doctor who advised Gibbs that Tony was likely his last chance to find any semblance of true love or happiness in his life.

When the hell did doctors turn into goddam matchmakers, Gibbs had been left to ponder. First it was Taft forcing the confession out of him that he had more than platonic feelings for Tony, then Ducky, his oldest and most trusted friend, making him face up to those feelings.

A tired sigh escaped as Gibbs began to speak.

"I don't know, Duck. Tony freaked out when I brought up his letter, but then we talked about it. If nothing else I think he knows how I feel. I told him I'd do whatever I could to get him to come home. Told him I would try being more than just friends if that's what he really wanted, but I couldn't promise him anything. We both have a lot of things to figure out. Tony doesn't think he can trust anyone anymore, and I don't blame him. He's afraid of what might happen _if_ he comes back. That's why he doesn't want anything to do with NCIS. He's tired of being used by the brass. Not sure what else he might want to do, though. I promised him I wouldn't try and drag him back and that he had every right to tell me and Vance to go to hell. What happens now or where things go from here? It's all up to Tony. Duck, don't say anything to anyone. We both need time to figure things out, okay?"

Ducky rewarded Gibbs with a genuine smile and shook his hand. He placed his free hand on Gibbs' shoulder and steered him toward the big glass doors.

"But of course, Jethro! I shall do nothing to interfere, and I shall endeavor to keep the others from making inquiry. I think I can enlist Mr. Palmer's help to keep the hounds at bay, if you will. I am just happy to have you back, and I do hope that Anthony changes his mind and comes home very soon, for your sake - and for his. Now, go and commence thinking about your future, Jethro. You know where to find me should you need my assistance."

Gibbs smiled and nodded, grateful not only for Ducky's support but also for his protection. Anyone attempting to interrogate Ducky for information would regret it. Ducky took his role as confidant seriously and could be counted on to take secrets with which he was entrusted to the grave. The autopsy doors swished open, and Gibbs took his leave.


End file.
